mervin

I'm in love with your mind, she said:
the twistings and turnings, no better still,
its your brain I want,
the spongey grey convolutions

Christ, I'm thinking its like she's always got her tongue in my ear,
just ... sucking, and this is not what I want.

I want something of more anatomical
porportions: I want an exchange of bodily fluids.
Is that too much to ask for.

But she's in love with my mind ....
and the telephone.
Like me she's got one of those cordless jobs
and she walks and talks and eats and probably even pees
while we talk, and she talks, and talks
and talks like five hours at a time

and Christ, this is not what I want.
I mean its nice sometimes, she practically worships me:
she says there's men, there's women and then there's me
like there's a whole fucking sub genus reserved for me,
I mean like that's a compliment right?
BUT, what should I do like open up a filling station and let her ...
Pummmmmp me.

May the angels and the saints preserve me,
I swear this is not how I wanted it
waiting by the phone for some truck driving, revolutionary,
vampirella wannabe

lord have mercy

to nibble my wits and lick her chops.

I'd prefer the traditional wet spot in the sheets.
to standing here with my fly open
and my ideaology swinging in the breeze

I should sell tickets: "Hurry, Hurry, come see the unknown poet
become the hapless victim of his own verbiage ...
Christ, just go ahead and fill`er up