her fingers up inside of me licked my ego like a flame,
my well-rehearsed ghost moans and arches
teach me that i am a piece of performance art.
the cracking open of a can, the lick of the lips,
liquor and *****: age-old remedies for **** near anything.
lingering hands post-******
are swiftly denied, refusing any feelings she may want to manifest.
i still can't look in my lovers' eyes
and my hands don't stop shaking until that liquid
that tastes like battery acid flows like honey down my throat.

if you give a kid a puppy, he will look at you like he loves you.
if you give me a 4loko i will give you the same look.
i am a grown man sometimes but most times i am a kid.
i think that maybe we are all kids.
maybe you can come over and you can play with my dog
and maybe we could drink 4loko.