I.
Touching is
and awful thing
and like a screen
tries to obstain.
A shiver holds
between the folds,
the manic
caustic center.
An epic tale
that you've allowed,
with tendered waists
and venting sounds
is all that strength
can still maintain.
II.
I see now, that you
were an FAS baby
--your face is awfully long
Your hair,
your slutty dress
has not effect on me.
--I'm gay.
Your like an
invisible mistake
snake.
With nowhere to go
but around.
Your guitar
your leather loafers
your mother of pearl
and rhinestone
toe buckle?
III.
When I come home
upon a wave
my visage
pallidly malaised,
your consensus
like a front,
I am so creativley
dazed.
An arabesque:
the future laid
or else
my squalor.
