Chronic crapehanger
Cathected with depression
Counteract with love

Man-on-man ass smack
Permissible flirtation

Her pretentious poise
When you come calling

I ain’t no cracked shell
To cushion your fall.

Hold my hand–he doesn’t matter.

A plaintive cry
From extraordinary eyes
An amorous heart

Virgin wonderscape
Snowshoes to track waffled scars
Purely transient

Controlled by my hand.

Gotta full bosom
For bos’n to lay ’em down
His worries tonight

Eddies at the verge
Hurricane of discarded
Skirt around my knees

Picture a less frightened version of Lampwick in the donkey-morphing scene from Pinocchio.

I won’t miss you when you’re dead.

Pomp and circumstance don’t take you far when it turns out you’re full of hot air. Poke! Pop! There you go, crashing back to earth. My vote’s on humility.

She holds the part of me
That nobody else can see
Her fist is jailed around my heart
And I’m the prisoner of its need

Scratch your itch
Scratch mine

I, too, have known the metallic clang of silver soup spoon on steel-wrapped bars.

Dummy yum yum tree
Bears mimicked fruit to entice

All that remained of Kitty
Were her teeth marks
On his putrid flesh

I’m silently exclaiming it right now: “Bewp!”

Devil’s advocate:
“Daylight become sinister…
Or evening’s debut?”

We are equally wrecked, and I do not need a drop of drink to loosen my tongue and un-prise my grasp and concede my bestial organ to your demand.