Oh, you pleasure trap,
I crave triangulation, too.
Forgive me for my soul
tingles at your Torch Song 7,
the not-yet of yet another
gorgeous mistake. For you
I will: yearn, mutter, chant
(sugar sugar). Forgive my
lack of directive as I melt
into more pools of your
plush dangles, let us seek
not eclipse but fragrance
in our mutual subversions –
skipping over their
utterances – let us never
stop singing for Liberty,
never stop singing for
Liberty –
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Go lush obsequious one
albeit somewhat thickly
in daring anticipation
though not yet we
all souls tingle
I crave triangulation
left for posterity to embellish
Muttering indiscriminate tangle
uttering their best comforts
Caught in the act of song
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