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Oh won't you butter my squash?

Clean my seeds
Like the sins of my past

The baked passion inside
The oven racks
Racks
Racks

Stack the inner radiance
And peal me

The smooth orange paste
Will feel really zesty

Stay here on my cutting board
Send knives of kisses

Be merciless inside the sink
Blinking boiling stink

And watch as I eat your intestines
change
change
lemon pie
change
This cabbage,
Just an average roundness,
When turning greener then the savage forests,
Ruined my marriage at this early stage. 
And now it's in a beige paper bag.

This peach,
My lover of all trinkets,
Became a gluten-tree fork,
With its ***** like a beach ball,
Came to me in a dream-like trance. 

This onion,
The only window to my decomposing soul,
Unraveled its layers of tears to me in all
It's subtlety. It jumped on a subway train
Looking for fresher markets of prosperity. 

Desperately, still.
the teacups
pans
and plates

they all talk to me

i'm overcome with uncertainty

and no i'm not crazy

but silverware
appeals to
my senses

— The End —