What speaks to you?
The tongue varies - but tastes,
Tastes, my dear,
They change slowly.

Is it the touch of warm skin?
The sashay of cascading hair
and the pleasant popping
Of undone buttons?
Mortal desires
Have mortal consequences,
My dear.

Is it assurance in your wealth?
Do you long to never worry
About the poverty that oppresses?
You can have much but never
Have it all,
My dear.

Would that these words
Could speak to you
And cause a shift
Deep within your soul
If such a thing exists,
My dear.

But my tongue is twisted.
So it goes,
My dear.