I am extrovert
The darling sweep of France
The simple lust of his green grass
Subtle earth of the feverish pitch
I taste melancholy
And dispel it from my truest gall
Spurting bittersweet beauty
And a rebel skin laced with cursed wisps
Maybe these are the men
I am supposed to know
I am allowed to apprehend me
Put my in your jail
Let me scream asunder
Your paranoia
In a purple pill
I hate the demons
I lust the cream ones
Call me some day
I'll be part of your
Sensual communion
Maybe these are the fellas
I am supposed to inherit
Not a speck of dust on them
Not a serenade for me
I preprepare
My own ingredients
Horseradish and brussel sprouts
He mocks me dearly
And cuts up some tomatoes
Caring for his babies
His nonsensical
I don't understand him
I thought that he was a
Man of many talents
He could do the work
And I would gently
Supervise him
Elongate him
Turn him into a
New form of deli
That these men
Would appreciate
Their colourful
Fashions
I don't find them
In my corners
I think too much -
I'm desperate.
I am secondary
Primal urges
Must wait for tomorrow
He craves the territory not the bones
The lustre of heavenly
Men, sucking leisurely.
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