you might have to stare into neutrons
to un-bond the Marmaduke con
your large doggerels are farcical in a feline fashion.  
what harm you do  -
fondles the rabid scabies
of our scathing
debutantes.
we are
an affront to the baklava
where the syrup is fierce
and yet the spirit
is amber
locking swift Hymenoptera
into place....

you might have to stare into space

to see me...

but be me,

and you might
gain a wee thing as fabulous
as when we bent knees to no god
but had demons
in our **** larceny.
you polished the rogering,
you foggy bogged
the biscuit.
had your druthers whisk
the cinch a
bit.

till we nipped, went.

had our coffee
spent.