Skinny-dipping thoughts; the barest
form to say their dressed words
Body shots that taste so vacant,
for those working ceaselessly on themselves.

And to those opposed to their opposite of love;
with hateful manners on glass table tops,
Brushing off former charms of love, swept
under the rug; while after all the wettest kisses;
heartbreak tastes so sour, while everything else
requires a couple of mops.

For I had slipped into its fall, hoping for the
spring of emotions, but I crushed my crown;
feeling royally *******.

Twisted to one side; and a jab of sighs, for
taking the time for somebody’s love sickness
—must have been its favourite patient.