As a support of one such political property
Of a soul who seems to be so happily
Bartered off and begged and sold
On the corner of progress
Like prime the rib real estate
(Which ***** is)

I fear no more for my self or my morals
But for my mind I fear ardently
That this IT will unravel and unwind
If ever again I look at either side and see
Anything less that a creaply constructed property
(Sold off seemingly without want or kind)

Cold cream,
sweeping taste,
atop the hottest cocoa.
Pure bliss which
incites violent smiles
below my eyes.