Poetry

You rat bastard!
I'm so angry I could kick.
Another night and i will spit out what I think
And I guess you know,
I suspect you know,
And its just another one who'se fallen
for your charms.
Another in your arms
a number in your book
And yet I can't resist that look
of I know you and what you want
so I'll just grin and let you rant.

And so Isit and write and spit and listen to the heartbeat slow
when the music starts whenever you show.
And another has fallen, another to go
in the queue of lovers waiting to know;


You're smart-slick
your blue eyes quick
the packet of Jhonnies
out with a flick.
And here I stand
with a smile on my lips,
concious only of the swaying of my hips
and you divulging scoring tips
while I speak only in froidean slips
not willing to let you know of the dreams
I write about in mismatched streams
of conciousness, of touch and taste
and things I would blush to write
but nontheless take place at night.

___________________________________________

I, swaying, spit on the dreams you write with my hips
How could I know the touch of your lips
slips so willing in place
Only speak and I'm concious, froidean,
Divulging, slick, quick, angry. And would nontheless smile
Another taste and without a blush I would take you let you.
Your blue eyes smart and here,
my rat bastard.

Mirrored love
noses tilted
all differences delicious