only here's where i'm naive
wearing my emotions on my sleeve's, where i believe
where i make an ass out of me, & make assumptions
not through poetry, through my dreams
when i go to sleep
you & me, are a production
a performance piece
not war & peace
still, somewhere where, there's a scene
& we’re so obnoxious
with people watching, from the mezzanine
with their mini binoculars
i'd pull up a chair
if i wasn't already there, relaxing in your rear
passionately, pulling your hair
gently or intensely
sounding like a bull in your ear
testing your spleen, mirroring obscene
till i'm, appearing in your dreams
my intentions, is hearing you scream, lustfully
& feeling your cream, gushing me
till you're discussing me
with, whoever you're with
as if i'm a myth, a hieroglyph
this exodus, is cutlery
experts insist, i wish for joint custody
of more than your lips, between your hips
unluckily, & what's yuck to me, is
none of the above even exist
except, last night when we first kissed
oh, & i guess, when you was fuckin’ me
from the mezzanine
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