Why do You crinkle like this?
Why do You deed these all deeds?
I'm ready even to please,
standin' at knees, to cut, to slit this.
To stop to snub any breeze
of any moralist things 'nside Me. I'm not with this!
I rot of this! I've got with this
too much enough to love
after so filthiness! Buildin' this
in rhymes, You make no feels but spite.
These wild lips that rhymes sneak
to Me even in dreams, at least!
To be continued.