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

You know how I am,
but you don’t know why.

My mom would probably say something like
“Two unno fight like **** an’ dog,”

And I would agree, and quarantine myself
away to keep you from getting too sick of me.

I never thought it mattered if we agreed on
anything, as long as we said “yes” to each other