kick the mule, then lick the knee
bend the knee to run to pray to plea;
how dim when only she and him
bored of the bearded lady dressed in cauliflower cheese;
too many times their trumpet eyes
play along to the jazz of the junkyard snore
in sleeps of recycled stainless steel
upon the marveled marbled floor;
pretty in the pink of saffron stew
at the dead-end of the throat
the pensive vegan picks the bones from the aphrodisiac
this is where true love truely belongs
when the emptied sack demands it\'s money back!
mark the cards and deal within the loop
cut fire from this Eden that smokes one crying lung.
let oil be the final breath, just as
the uncertainty paints appease upon the sun.
where painted maggots kiss inside the mould of brioche bun;
this belated suffocation of the cheerful cheek to yawn
each day as much another for this love about the lawn
kick the mule then kiss the blast
in it\'s armour of the glass
to where we find the sequel to those equal to the task;
and if you had to know my dullest fantasy - all you had to do was ask! -