when i am huddled
in glooms dark corner
there is a human beauty
in being devastated by ****** impulses

Other's, those objects of desire
are like fiends of an uncertain music
that turn the heart into a stammering blush

I sniff the scent of flesh labyrinths and causeways
glitter toes and derrières
pom pom pie and brazen limbs

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
I want to **** them all