Of the amber streetlights
circling woodland edges,
carnal helicopter flights of fingers
swirl seduction into our suburbia
Pray tell, let me thrash one hundred branches
across boughs of your skin
which never sees sunlight
Of the flora and fauna
treat me like an equal until it hurts
Deportment is the balance of tongues
o’er swollen lips and forbidden fruit
which bloom under my rough hands
Of the arithmetic of negligee, clinging,
darlin’, just let me count the ways
I can peel your skin to the bone
My hands struggle for breath
held deep inside you,
suck…fuck…hook me to the
breeze of your midnight breathe
The heart is designed to run out of time,
If this be a social crime
then may the wife of Christ
never answer the phone
for fear of speaking to would-be lovers
