clench, flutter,

Love
is what the heart has to pump
besides blood,

which hurts
so damn much when the last valve gives out,

because
heart couldn't care
if the blood doesn't flow - but cries agony
over

the love done without

Ill-Considered.

I want to get married in Las Vegas
on same-day notice
by a roman catholic bishop
who I saved from a mugging
to a girl who is exquisite
but she wasn't confirmed,
and so she consequently has to take a second middle name
at the altar where we'll turn
and face the celebrant and witness
as we falter through our vows
- I go with the written business,
but she's all "I made these up!
I put in a lot of thought!"
- the bishop's thinking "maybe I just shouldn't have ought,"
but our little farce unfolds as the Cathedral looks down,
we get through it all okay, and then
it's time to hit the town
and maybe gamble all our winnings
for the rest of our lives,

which is what all such beginnings do, I guess -

'til we die.

guilty flowers

the best is to leave bouquets of truth
bereft of exaggeration, really
and those blooms - none of them (botanically
speaking) are compliments, not a one! but
truth has color that is beautiful,
where truth has stolen its light
from you, the grey of your eyes
as they rise, "oh, really?"
Really: truth has color that is
beautiful, which was stolen, theft
at lightspeed, off of you (okay,
borrowed, generous as you are you
will not press a charge, you
wuss) and truth has also a clean
and a rich, cool, sweet scent
in comparison with which, your
"compliments," your parfumes, your
chemical artifices, and even your
natural flowers, to turn the metaphor
against itself invidiously! - all cannot
compare to your hair, with your face
buried in my shoulder as grace
sinks a fist in the pit of my stomach,
I gasp, grateful for the epiphany, with

the warmth of each of us spreading over

Hey -
do you know? I have never once had the chance
to compliment you. Derelict,
derelict of me.
Will you please,

with my apologies accept?

these

sex, casually

wait well what
exactly are we are you are we talking about
here though? can you be my backup fuck, and
we will have either/or gasms? We'd need
to work out a system
to alert the other
in the event one's hopes have died, or
any other opportune time, really, because
you only live once, and there's no shame
in dying a thousand times,

just a little

I say we "go for it" after all
it's just you and me and who is to
blame? who's to know, or who is to say
how it can feel so good and be so right
and wrong at the same time - these absolutes
are all gray areas. Speaking morally,
who cares? And which of us really
are we trying to convince, here
anyway? I thought it was me, right?
But it doesn't matter now, because regardless:
two consenting adults, hypothetically and
if that's the case, let's just come on,
be grown-up about this, clearly we both
or I know I do at least! And you, it certainly
goes without saying, or would have, or
it seemed like, I mean wow! You caught me
off-guard, I have to confess. I have to ask,

So

I would like to ask you flat out:
are you feeling like
I am? Which is - are you just about dying
to, are you

kind of trembling
at the moment? are you kind of nervous?
nauseous? sorry - I mean "nauseated" - is this
not the right time, do you have
headaches you'd have to ignore, or
heartaches whose only possible cure
lies elsewhere? Because, look
this is really serious, here, we,
a step like this
we can't or we shouldn't take or

do this

if the circumstance is wrong. Because this
sex that we are talking about here
it's important. It's a big deal, first and
foremost, us - well, we - we are friends. Aren't we?
We care about each other - sure, that
has to come first no matter what comes next,
if anyone. We matter to each other. Right?

I believe that's established fact.

So what you suddenly look like
naked isn't going to
isn't going to
isn't going
to

change

all that

sorry um

I got side-tracked

"Tumbledown"

really
you are
perfect
you are

perfect
really
I don't mean
"no scars"

I don't mean
no wrinkles
no foibles
no flaws

'cause all of
your aspects
contribute
to awe

you hold yourself above it all
I guess I do as well
you should come down, to take a stroll
stretch your legs a spell
you're beautiful on pedestal,
but better still on ground
you're out of reach -
I can't quite see you
tumbledown

tumbledown
I can't quite see you 
tumbledown
oh to be near you
tumbledown
what if we two
tumbledown
tumbledown
tumbledown 
oh you don't have to 
tumbledown,
but if you tumbledown, 
if you tumbledown
I will catch you

clearly
you've been
a godsend
to me

don't want to
critique you
or bite where
I feed

but total
immersion
the world can
be great

you ought to
dive into
it's almost
too late

from where you stand, above it all
the view is quite sublime
from where I stand, look up to you
well what could be more fine
You're beautiful - from tip to toe
we're earth and heaven-bound
the two could meet,
if only we could
tumbledown

tumbledown
a perfect day, too
tumbledown

tumbledown 
it's on our way, too
tumbledown 
tumbledown 
tumbledown
oh you don't have to
tumbledown,
but if you tumbledown,
if you tumbledown,
I will catch you

you're out of reach - but I need you
I guess that problem's mine.
but I suspect the air up there
is rather more thin than fine
you separate, for goodness sake
but good is to be found
when you dive in,
like everything, just
tumbledown

tumbledown
maybe we could
tumbledown

tumbledown
do us both good
tumbledown
tumbledown
tumbledown
oh you don't have to 
tumbledown
but if you tumbledown
if you tumbledown,
I will catch you.

"the other thoughts"

afraid as we are of the thoughts that we think
it's the thoughts we don't dare to let fly cross our minds
that will in the end, upend and upset our lives
and leave our selves scrambling, sharpening knives
and determining exits, and screaming for plans
demanding to know where life lies, in whose hands
and questioning how things could come to such pass:
it's the thoughts we don't dare that will free us,
at last

a passing lantern

The passing lantern leaves no light,
but eyes are windows to deep wells
where memory lives,
and passed lights dwell.
The moment you pass
will return us
to night.

There
is a light
that will never go out.
You lit it in every window in sight -
not a lamp in the window, just a glimpse,

a reflection of you.

The moment you pass
will return us to night.

I loved you as much as I could

I loved you as much as I could
I did
I loved you as much as I possibly could
I loved you much more than I could if I tried
and it felt like I didn't even try

but I would

have, if I'd known
you had needed so much more

a sunrise for idiots

it took a long time to get home
the other night. I was given
a ride, but it went the wrong
way, and I couldn't decide -

should I call up a cab? Or be
stubborn. And walk

Well, I guess you could say
that I made the right choice.
By the time I walked home,
I had made up my mind:
should have called for a cab.

But I won something more
something else, undefined
something true, in the light

of that new, broken day.

recurring presentiment

I don't know why I should die tonight
I can't see how it could benefit me
or anyone else, but I guess I might
if anything's possible, well,
we'll see

in the morning I'll wake to another day
which is usually good for a nice surprise
since I'm always expecting to die in my sleep
I suspect that I will, to the day
I die

a small, empty envelope

I just found a small, empty envelope that says
"I love you, joe"
in your handwriting. And it was torn
just a little, where I opened it

and I can't remember getting it
or what was inside. No stamp,
no address, it must have been left
on the dresser table

I saved it

who knows why

by way of explaining

As random as most
of what I say to anyone may be,
somehow

I'm still always at the mercy of what occurs

to me. So

occasionally I'm left
in the place of one who sort of looks
on, and doesn't happen

to think of a thing to say.

to you, of all people. Ridiculous, even
if I could I can't possibly

tell you all
I could tell you, say
even a thought's worth of all
I could say. All right? Just

believe me. Please

Anyway,

I don't understand "Camp" Humor

I don't understand "Camp" Humor, since
not being a child of privilege, I never
got to go to summer camp (and this
I presume, is where it comes from - kids,
bored out of their skulls on some
lake, prior to even the very idea
of Friday the 13th, to make
it interesting - would put on
skits, shows, come up with
marvelous songs and routines
to while away the long hot days
and mosquito- and love-bit
nights, amused at the futility
of it all, lathering on irony
like sunscreen, well). I didn't
get to go!

And fuck you! I don't understand
"Camp"
Humor.

in memory

Thinking of you tonight and
hoping you are breathing deep,
thinking clear, remembering all
of the things to hold dear in life
and each other, as much memory
as our minds can lift, our hearts
can hold -

all of this now, we carry forward
with us, from and through and to
moments that can never die,
nor even grow old.

We keep memory in front of us, not
because we choose to live in the past,
but because in our lives, we have had
the best things that ever happen, and
those things leave marks. And those marks
last.

We live in memory, because in life, we see
all the same kinds of sights
that the ones we have loved more than life, itself
brought about for us.

We are not on our own. It is by these lights

that we find our way, and can see our way for what it is:

our home.

Sexy to me (#3)

Sexy to me
is beating on a drum,
with somebody's tongue
hanging out and the slap
of random hands' palms
against each other - or this
and that against that and this -
as an impromptu concert
unfolds itself forth, and the crowd goes wild!
- or is it the performers?
Or is it just us, it's only us two
here you know, we can trade roles
as our need needs be, as the symphony unfolds,
dizzyingly rhythmic
yet relentlessly experimental in scope.
No art project, this
is rock and roll! And the applause
at the end
is a silent and prone ovation
of ragged breath
in synchrony.

calculation

the conversation it would take (based on
getting through and going over all
the situation you laid out, just now) would run you
approximately ninety minutes to four
hours, and at the end of it

everything would be figured out

and no one would feel
even a little bit better about any of it, but

I'm down if you are.

that glorious mane

that glorious mane
of hair
of yours
well it must be a problem
for everyone else
as it slinks
and it gleams,
and streams and pours in waves
of confusion to eyes unused to daze,
catching light, throwing back lightning
bent in too many places to trace the kinks
but it doesn't confuse my eyes one bit.
In fact, I could quite get used to it.

fiercely fought

fiercely fought,
to the end, and since
we continue to find without evidence
some bare pretext
to pursue this case -
long after the spoils have all gone to waste,
long after there's nothing to fight over
or for

but it's damages, now:
and we both want more.
Because nothing was fair in love,
we want war.

With no end to the game but to score
and score.

home remedies

my fucking head hurts
from what I didn't do, today
or yesterday and most likely
yet again tomorrow, and there's only one way
to quiet the son of a bitch. Not pills,
or alcohol or -

well, I suppose enough of both would do

- but maybe just this: shutting
it out, and getting down
to it.

ow

last man on earth?

If I were the last man on earth, I
think I'd have more important things darling
than to worry about your "not ifs" - I mean

let's face it, plenty of girls and women are
(like me) patriots of a sort, when it comes
to the human species. The species must continue, if I
were the last man on earth, it would practically be
my bounden duty to go around impregnating
as many willing females as possible, let's be honest -

this would be no hardship on them. With women
running things, we'd have a huge surplus of
whatever women want, which is mostly good things,
and a gigantic deficit of the kind of shit
men tend to need to prove. And I'm guessing it
would not be about wars, and borders, and
fundamentalisms that bigot us against each other
anymore - I am pretty sure, with women running things,
most fundamentalists would breathe a huge sigh
of relief and say, "Can I take this
suffocating thing off now? Can I put
down this prop and put my hands
to the proper soothing
of humanity's ills?"

Or what's left of it.

All men gone.

Last man on earth.

This would be a catastrophe,
for a lot of people. But me, I would try
to suck it up, labor manfully on, doing my part
as best I can, and you can be sure that most women
are not of your weird, selfish ilk! Most women
can see the bigger picture, and would be on board
vigorously and with commitment to what needs to be done:

For the species!

The species must go on, and I am very good
at doing what needs to be done in a crisis,
when the chips are down, when humanity's very existence
is on the line and the only thing that can save us now
depends on continuing, on going on, well: we must go on.
And I am damn certain that the rest of humanity (unlike you
- you must have some kind of attitude problem! Or
your priorities are just...messed up) but
the rest of humanity,

or what's left of it

(the better half)

would be right there with me
in this suddenly most urgent of tasks. And
pitching in, and helping each other do everything else.
We'd need to raise as many squalling, lusty, robust
brats as fast as possible! And I regret that
the sheer numbers of these
bastards would probably make it
difficult for me ever to be a real presence
as a parent, in their lives. As a good influence
- as a father, as a father figure, I'd probably be
distant at best, and the prospect pains me. But
I trust humanity

especially what's left of it, in this scenario

To pick up my slack, and I know everyone will be pulling
together, because we have to. It would be pretty awkward
probably, but unselfish people (unlike you) do what needs to be done.
Whereas you, with your "not if you were the last man on earth!"
- who even says that these days? Is this the fifties?
Haven't we grown (as a species)
more wise, more responsible
about apocalypse scenarios since those innocent, black and white
times? Baby, if I

were the last man on earth, I'd like to think
better of you

than to believe you'd stick at that point. Think
about what you're saying! What about humanity?
The species! Hey, if that's how you feel, then

we don't need you. I know I don't.

Not if I were the last man on earth.

Man.

The last man on earth.

What nightmare scenario could bring that about. I would miss
my brothers and my dudes and my men so much, and with a tear
in my eye and a catch in my throat, I guess

I would have to get down to business, wouldn't I? We all would. The species

the species.

How hard a road would that be to come back. And what
a long haul! Picture the decades
passing. For one thing, by two decades after

"the event"

(whatever it comes to be called, my guess is
with no men around to slap overdramatic
science fiction names on everything, it
would be called something low-key), everyone
under twenty would pretty much have to be
either my son or daughter. And how would the next
phase play out? Poor kids. What a messed up world,
what a messed up upbringing that would end up being
- or, maybe not? With women running things - and many of them,
scientists, geneticists - probably a lot of taboos could be
replaced with pragmatics. I'm sure they could work stuff out
pretty well. Various systems, to where the next generation
could rapidly fan out within the remaining population still able
to procreate, and get some proper diversity going, a good-sized
breeding population after a generation or two. Just mathematically

it's still going to be a long time
before overpopulation will ever be an issue again.

Who knows, maybe the whole thing would be a good thing. But
still

It's very sad

A catastrophe. Last man on earth.

Now that I think about the scientists, and geneticists and
doctors - there's also quite a lot of sperm on tap,
in frozen supplies, so - they might not even need me at all.

well screw them then.

and screw the world, if that's the case!
screw the species. The species can go fuck itself then. Baby,
if I were the last man on earth,

I would ask you to marry me.

joys of moaning

Man

moaning, I haven't thought about that
in ages. I used to moan

when I was a kid, and sick and it hurt, when
I was a kid and nobody was around. But I remember one time
a few years back, I was sick

and in quite a lot of pain, and I suddenly remembered
how I used to moan

I was home, alone so I just thought
I'd give it a try

experimentally

Next thing I knew, I was lying in bed,
moaning and I didn't realize my girlfriend
had come home. Now,

she knew I was in a bad way
since that morning, but here she was, home
probably alarmed, initially - her "big strong man" lying in bed
MOANING? But the longer she stood there, I am sure
- listening to me lying there, oblivious to her presence, moaning
not loud, just sort of low and continuously?

Finally she put her hands on her hips:
"OH SHUT UP YOU BIG BABY"

I shot back "FUCK YOU!

IT FEELS GOOD TO MOAN"

It does feel good to moan.
I mean, you can't go around doing it
all the time. And it's no panacea
- you still feel horrible, but

the hum and vibration and airflow
or something
is soothing to your pain. Your body
recognizes an attempt is being made
to comfort it,
like when you hold a distressed infant
high on your chest, and jostle
the poor dear thing

saying "JJUUUUJZSH, jjuujzsh jjuujzsh jjuujzsh!
Jjuuujzsh, jjuujzsh jjuujzsh jjuujzsh!"
until the baby's "waaaaaah" sort of
stretches out lazily and trails off.

Poor baby.

do not unplug

I'm not sure when
or why
or how
it happened, but
then I guess I'm not sure
in general, about most things. Sure,
I still stay up late,
in the wings, watching sides
split as the spotlight
burns bright on today's
big hit comedian, but
it's me there
people are laughing at. I
don't know why they can't see
it stings. And it wasn't
a joke. It was so
sincere, I guess
I suck, as such
per se
I was not born
to be here
on a planet
like this one, with all
you highly-evolved
primates
trying to get the best of me
involved in whatever this thing
is called

society

is a one-trick
son of a bitch
bum steer, that some
son of a bitch
tricked you once
to buy hook, line,
sinker and Brooklyn
Bridge,
and whether that tricky
son of a bitch was your mom,
your dad, your forever best
friend, your wife,
or the end
of a long succession of people
you thought you could trust,

Let me tell you:

you must.

You just must. You
have to. There are no other options, you must

buy in. There is no resistance, no
chance to push back,
no value to the chips
you try to cash in,
get a different deal cut
to some other track quick
fast in a hurry, but. This -
is all you got,
and all you get, so don't worry. Life

is the worst thing you'll ever have to get through. But
it's over quite soon, and
you'll be wondering why you even thought

you were part of it.

grow old

there's nothing precious about this moment
let time stretch out for a while
did you ever want to grow old, together
with anyone? Well,
who wants to grow old? Let's

see that smile
stretch wide
with its wrinkles, spread
and crinkling,
webs pinched 'round your eyes,
skin drying out smooth
instead of the youth
and foolishness you were
taut, no

taught

to say everything,
in school. Words
would come out your mouth
like "forever," well

I kind of want to go there with you

as pitch.

I like you, more
than you're allowed to know. It
would upset the balance of several worlds
if each everyone involved
were explicit enough
on each point of what

we'd be willing to slough
- sacrifice; suck up
for what gleam
we could gain -
and the treasure involved
is far more

than could count
using maths, or
domestic gross products,
or gold - is far more
than the pain

could be, balancing out

could I let you know that?
could your dainty hands hold
what the full count was worth?
of potential
untold, oh, "potential"
yes,

that.

And "untold" for good cause.
It could never come true, not
by plausible laws
of the universe, fully ordered
and ordained. Could it ever? No, not
not made fact, not maintained,
and not realized.

No. Which is why I can't trust

selling you on some scheme

on some fantasy

us

of W. Shakespeare

how many words Shakespeare just...
made up out of whole beam, and they stuck!
Because he had a knack for it.
The language,
for him,
was not just one
but many horses, and he rode each one
'til it was fit to be knackered, and it was never
the same beast
afterwards.

A fine neologian! He was.
Bastard dramatist, though.

All that contorted bullshit
he put Hamlet through,
as if any sane Prince

could have stretched that shit out
beyond an Act's worth.

Hamlet's sin
wasn't to have been born indecisive.

- it's that he thought insanity

was a plausible plea to build a stratagem upon.

Still,
he did it cannily, if you don't mind
the collateral damage. Please,
it's Laertes

and Ophelia I mourn,

primarily. Theirs,
the price of being born

in a world whose creator
makes the words up

as he goes.

"sweet tooth"

You're so much more than a candy store.
I am so much more than a kid, you know -
but if life seems sweet every time I see more
of what's there behind glass, in the shop window,
sometimes I can't help wanting everything.
All at once, 'til my head and my sweet tooth aches!
But I am not a kid, as I hope you know.

And you're no candy store, for goodness sakes

butchered

you butchered my language,
and drained the blood,
and carved it, sliced lean
but well-marbled,
served it up, raw
but very well done.

"Circles Around Me"

All my life I've tried so hard
to be the better half
every time I try for true love
I really bust my ass
but she breezed in and put me to shame
easy as can be
I might be good for her
but she's much better for me

she loves circles around me
yes she does
she loves circles around me, yeah,
she does

I'm so good at being in love
I'm the natural
just like wonder boy, Roy Hobbs
hitting that curve ball
but I'm not even in her league
I'm way up in the stands
she's showering sparks on me
I'm just her favorite fan, she loves

circles around me,
yes she does
she loves circles around me, yeah
she does
she does, she does she loves
circles around me,
she loves circles around me, yeah
she loves circles around me
yes, she does

she has got me memorized
I'm file away
she can get what I don't mean
from what I didn't say
and I wonder: "What's the point?
Where do I even fit?"
'Cause I just can't compete
she's so much better at it!

I could sacrifice my self
to the big ideal
ratchet up the genuine love
be just that much more real
but what's it even gonna achieve
who is it going to fool
one look at her next to me
just what am I trying to pull?

she loves circles around me

in your dreams.

of course I'm in love! and of course she likes
me

(which is kind of a slight
calamity, in the grand scheme
of things), but who cares? It'll all

even out: eventually.

By the end of the night,
in real life if we like, if we wish
we shall see, or
if not,

in your dreams

tips on watching The Bourne Identity for the first time

Tips

on watching The Bourne Identity

Watch it full
immersion. lights off
like a movie

Suspense flicks need
and reward immersion.

Don't
expect a hero. A person
like that - in reality -
is a casualty.

Don't
expect reality. With a person
like that, reality

is a diversion

jack-pot

I just suddenly got excited for you
because you have me!

if
you wanted to, and
I think you know this. It's
amazing

at times,

like a lottery prize
oh, the look in your eyes

When someone just suddenly sees what you're worth (and
especially when
you're one dumb sumbitch prick,
arrogant straight from birth, and
you've always outmeasured your own weight
in gold) - well,

the look in your eyes
is a thing to behold: you

are just as proud of me

you're just as vain in me

as I am?

Come true!

- I
just suddenly got

so excited for
you

the emoticon artist refrains, for once

Sometimes
I smile as I type some
thing, and
I can't bring
my

self

to put a smiley down, because
people will just
think that means:

I'm joking.

But the fact is,

I'm just

so far

from

a

f
r
o
w
n
.

was there a note?

Dear

you know who the fuck you are:

I wouldn't give you the God-damned
satisfaction.

In fact,
I'm going to live
for another hundred fucking years.
I'm going to invent a serum that lets me, and then
I'm going to taunt the world with it to the tune of,
why, the patent sales alone will be worth, oh, untold
billions, correct? Yes. Except

when they find out it doesn't work for them,
I'll probably get
sued.

But what did I expect? Who

cares?

Whoever cashes in, whoever benefits
from whatever that little class action farce nets,

I will laugh all the way
to each individual funeral, and wink
at whoever catches the bouquet.

Do they do that at funerals?

They should start.

Because pardon the morbid levity, but
I'm just savoring the inevitability of my triumph,
and guess what? Living,

well,

it's the best revenge.

So rest assured: friend, nobody
has to worry about reading my note. No suicide, nope
By the time you read this, hope
you have your end
of our affairs in order, because
whatever you meant to me
- by the time you read this note -
it will already have died.

Sincerely,

Love,

Forgive me please,

I am desperately yours,

Well, maybe
jeez,

well maybe just whatever you
had meant to me

will have already died

by the time
I finish writing this note.

I sincerely hope so.

we'll see

I'll try.

I don't get it Pt. 2

I'm sorry

I know it was a joke, and I just wish
I had a sense of humor left

after believing you

lived by degrees

remember when we lived by college
degrees,

and we couldn't find enough future
to plan within?

What happened
to the scope of our horizons, back then?

Was it the scope of our endeavors that closed us in?

We swore
that we could take life,
all in one bite.

I can't escape this feeling that we've wasted our lives.

Well,

one of us

has wasted the other's, at least.

I'm not naming names, but you know who, yeah
you know me.

How's the path you chose treating you, now

please?

oh,

you can tell me. Our lives lived

by degrees

close sesame

How many magic words, passwords,
secret codes, are there in this world

to doors we walk by every day, all unknowing?

Ever so much less than life could be:
it is.

Or so we get the sense.

yet

how disappointing would it be,

if we were wrong?

Invasion: Me

This is my house.
This is my life,
my territory by deed and right,
and I have it dead
to rights, I am

going in:

going in! go! go
the signal, the alarm,
synchronized, watch to warning
coordinate and unleash harm,
scorning incoming fire,
beat back all defenses
inch by piece, by yard
by the mile will yield,
the battlefield
laid bare to artillery eyes,
undone
by hands digging in
like armored divisions,
as my intentions crawl over all,
like infantry

map out a plan
of sneak attack: blitz
this
sodden and beleaguered wreckage
into beaten submission, into beaten
shape, using
well,
brute force,
main strength,
atrocity, if need be
everything as necessary: this fort
will be leveled, laid open to
advance

and there will be no more

shame. In love and war, we all die
heroes, here. We come, marching
like ants.

History is won

by we: who shall write this
book.

the time without you.

the time without you.

is almost over, and
I wonder what I'll miss most
when it's gone, and I'm

not ever alone again?

I know what I miss most right
now.

remember us unanimous

I think I remember the film
and as I recall, I think
we both kind of hated it.

Didn't you? Correct me if I'm
wrong.

"Bitch, You Don' Love Me No Mo'"

Bitch,
you don' love me no mo'.
I can tell it
from how you're never lovin' me
I can smell it
on your shoulders, and
the crook of your neck
I can see it
from the look in your eyes, which is called:
'away';
that look is called 'away'
I have seen that look, baby, and I
know what it means.
you look away from me, baby
I mean bitch. Baby, I don't mean
that you're a "mean bitch," no
because you aren't. Or a cold bitch, no - you
aren't that either. But in fact, you are a bitch,
in fact you are one of the most delicious bitches in existence, and in fact
I only said "one of" because of the plural. "One of the most delicious
bitches in existence." Sounded a little better than "the most delicious bitch
in existence," but either way - that bitch is you, baby, you are
one hells of a hot bitch, bitch!
I mean, baby.
bitch, you got me all confused.

baby I have to say
hey
what the hell happened? to this love of ours
this love of yours
that you used to have for me
which made it mine, and
which I gave right back to you,
which then made it ours, but
the whole transaction, maybe it got confused
but to me it made perfect, perfect, sense
sense sense sense sense. Like evidence
proved in court, with a unanimous jury to tell the judge
what's what. And yes
they say that love is a bitch, baby,
but baby:
if that's so,
I will take you
over that bitch,
every damn day in a row. If only
I could. But baby,

you don't love me no mo'