I **** with
you heavy

Why else would
I be here?

But we ain't locked in,
you make sure of that

If only
the youth knew

We do not last,
this is not our life

What came after and
when comes before

My smooth skin akin to
a knowing or lack thereof

I'm not looking for someone
to marry, but should I be?

What kind of excuse is 'I'm a piece of
****'? Are you stuck the way you are?

What type of end is beginning?
No need in talking of known knowns.

Pat, pat pat: what am I?
A puppy, a shoulder, a mammogram?

What makes me what you think I am?
A feeling, a line, a telegram?

Stay here or
stay the night

Say you're at my place
and our shadows are aligned

What wild culture is
that of our kind

Flow so hot,
I got Satan sweatin

I got ****** more strung up
than a cotton gin

Candy flippin, cross faded-
chase it down with gin

What am I doing?
I am washing dishes

I am nowhere else but
where I am now

There is an I beneath every
made decision despite my environment

My I exists and I notice
its being doesnt take up much time

A poet must produce some
type of lust in their words

To slurp up sloppily some
light red meat juice

I let you do to me
what winter does to forest trees

But I suppose they don't
have much say in the matter