Losing the difference
in the grand design
Without a kiss
from another kind
or the oral tradition
It's been months
since I last looked behind
and felt sorta lucky
Or last imagined myself
in a bed
with a girl
who likes me
Some soft perfume
in your eyesight
fills me up
with some raven desire
to take control of how your time unfolds
My genes are bruise steepers
they're valiant cut keepers
and in my soupy potential
I'll find I've wasted too much time.