I can't wait to partake in things that make you sick.
My stomach stays high tide.
Stay away from it if you can't swim.
My guts are laid out in patterns;
peaches and fruit flesh stuck to fingertips.

(**** my **** then give me a kiss.)

I can't wait to imitate art contained in this.
Two figures trapped within an unfinished painting.
Four strokes of inspiration to complete the lips.
A splash of white to end it.