ah, so civilization secedes to heed, “MOAR WINE,”
the one with the bubbles, you know the kind.
heathen law hardly dictates his hedonist creed
so i did what i did out of want and not need.
listen! i am a tender thing, a browbeaten wick
in a puddle of wax. i’d melt if you held a candle
to anything like the vast chasm of what i might imagine you to be.
don’t overthink things, don’t lemon it, now! pull it out!
a miss! the crowd goes hisssss. i might be naive, too eager to please,
silent in transit- my hands are older than they seem.