/                            and why would an englishman
justify shouting the word
                                                        fil­th!
         while i interacted with
his native bride,
      adorned with tattoos,
and piercings...
            
            and i would attemp to later
wish to strap a belt to my arm
hiding my kuckles in st. andrew's
gesture of an X...

to kiss the hand
   of the "common" englishwoman...
and then receive
a kiss on one's own hand?
and not to kiss her forehead?!
  and not cry, coupled with
laughter listening to...

   if i were a rich man...
y'ah b'ah dibby dibby,
dibby dibby, dibby dibby d'um;
                  idle di'lo'*****'h di'd'oh
               man..

oh ***** and the englishwoman...
but if i didn't agitate
the situation
   with my eyes, excusing
the slighting slang of a man
with a dog who i'd like to jaw wrestle
with
to make better use of a foul breath
transcending the owner's language...

the european tefillin?
  a belt, wrapped around the hand,
without buckle...
to imitate a boxing glove?
kissing an englishwoman's hand,
and then having one's hand
being kissed,
   to later kiss the woman's forehead?!

a narrative! like a muslim niqqab!

then!
               and then!
                      i'd own a horse flute!
no stature akin to franz mauzer
within the confines
                       of a bogusław linda;

thus my tears would not
be vanity finite...

              and heart...

                  so much more:
     than             an oyster analogy!

i... hoßpitalier...

                       and to no essence,
or perfection...

                           but 26+ years
without having touched an englishwoman's
body?

       to later be made equal
to the ***** of babylon riding a christian
hydra?

                 well...

                          i'll take her piercings,
her tattoos, and her insecurities,
and make:
                  the most vermin-akin
                                     scuttling song...
oh rat, rat, rat, rat this, rat that...
fox this, fox that...

                   concerning the man who
ushered in the word, filth:
   who...

         didn't become
               a carpet-cleaner entrepreneur?!

- and to have spectated a rich woman
in a sri lak(i)an corner shop,
airing up her presence?
   plump... like a 17th century french
fetish for the extra *****?

         not exactly a parisian model
parody of libido with nearing
          pop anorexia wet lips...

more like: something...
                akin to an indigestion;
and a fancy to watch
a sunrise in some obscure
                urban aspect of tehran.