She has swollen red thoughts
bursting at the themes,

spherical, lustrous logic,
eager to be seen.

She wiggles her cerebrum
at your skull’s front door,

you invite her in,
looking for more.

She smiles at your neurons
that pulse to ***** her tight,

but she whispers to them softy,
“Oh, I’m in charge tonight.”

Logic ruptures from her mind,
your neurons grappling in vain,

her thoughts swallow your world,
so hard it brings you pain.



When she comes once,
you’ll never let her outside—

she’s now your reasoning concubine.