I always thought that if I've got too much to say
I dont say a thing.
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And I really really don't
What is the intertextual meaning of your eyes while I eat your lips?
What are the cultural assumption of your fingers on my skin?
What are the metaphors in your head while I turn into an Allen Ginsberg poem under you?
What are the language choices really meant to achieve (which they do on  a Freud-deep level)?
I want to eat you like a book
Drink you as if Kerouac is your father
Bathe in you, because you are Nabokovs quill
I only have words to play with