you aren't sweet
you're salty.
but i like to lick
the sweat from your
lips.

you aren't soft
you're sharp.
but i like the way
your nails feel against my
back.

you aren't loud
you're quiet.
but i like to sit and
just think with
you.

you aren't poetic
you're poetry.
but i like to write
you into
immortality.

he says somebody will love you
but i don't somebody
i want him

Taffeta watches the pigs atop the tables
Glass eyes and stitches where they're enabled
Guts pumping crimson liquid
Sewing 'em up, she's addicted
Family and friends recommend she withdraw
She responded with a twinkle in her eye and a dropped jaw
Scissors and string, that's all she'll need
Besides a corpse, of course, and a bit of stuffing
Lilac eyes affixed on a tattered pillow
Enjoying watching a weeping Willow
Her poor Porky pet has met his end
But everyone knows you can depend
Before your sweet pet starts to smell
On Taffeta's Taxidermy to stuff 'em well

Like the sun that always misses the moon
The constellation weeps for them