the fancy room

it was designed to look like a sweet old pussy in a fit of hamburger
with lovely rosy thimbles, kind tiny tits and a place in her heart
for she had embroidered it
my muscular navy brown hanging on the wall behind her
in her fat round voice:
i love your muscular, nervous and vascular tissue
she moved her hands around
as wounds are often red and black
I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of asking her what it meant
old-fashioned sort of concentrated V muscles
she was struggling to hold back tears
irritating on her face and neck
a vintage memory stained with too many old moods
sentimental door opened, light fell on the blonde sympathy
grinned with the smugness and joy of having 1981 on it
still, I’m not the type to be blinded by her hair in its wild state
as some types of engrossed puberticious interests change
the lineage is from their long gone little cruelties to enjoy the pain
eyes over juice as they wanted it anymore
out of curiosity and lust for sofas
instantly made you adult and then before you know it
you would be charmed and affectionate and slept
excitedly gorged on meat and cheese
which were perfectly legitimate and even encouraged
the first genuine spiritual revelation


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