Look at me!
Is the flesh of your finger-
tips more beautiful than
my eyes you mentioned
over a non-commital cup
of classy conversation?
You scoundral.
I eat bastardss like you
for breakfast with jasmine tea-
the small silver spoon
on the edge of my place
drizzles onto my napkin.
You fucking knight.
Did you sit down beside
a cackling fire in your shed,
polishing your armor for me?
The rounded metal bulge
bellow your chest plate
it’s far too big for you.
I hate you.
I truly hate you because
you look at me softly and
inch towards my stiffened
figure only to speak on the
silvery wings of impulse.
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