could it be a testicle
like cotton buds
from the penis flower
a witched river
under dark clouds
of brooms that don't fly anymore
maybe in need of an upgrade
perhaps a spell of weaponized winds
with insinuated floating ghouls
shaking their lopsided claws
under blood orchards
and diagrams of grief
as they follow their noses
looking for pussy
pussies; the scent of vivacious
zyzzyva
loving oozing laughter
thirsty skin
needles too
cunt heroine stuck on toe picket fences
mimicry of ducks blood butter
like a crime scene of kisses that went to far
eggs and runny yokes left puddled on a thigh
the uterus burps Pans milkshake
sex legacy legs
lookin for love
auto asphyxiated in a closet fringy and hanging with a hardon
lost eyes and drool
somewhere in Thailand
after spicy noodle soup
and a Tsingtao
hurt me
hurt you
i'm an evil boweval
a Zyzzyva come to love you