Rinkrats
Shall I compare your love to nothing? For nothing sustains my homeostasis As do tangible visions of spectral dragons I sense but can't perceive. Perhaps there is just nothing comparable! Absence is as fickle as reality: Numbed feet cause trips to be Too often taken but never completed. Shall I compare your lips to slumber? Milky white skin beautifully culminating in Pink edges begging for pressure But history is etched into bed sheets. Perhaps I am the one asleep! Waking visions of traps and police And brawls and fiesty gremlins That sneak in through the crawl space. Shall I compare your breasts to everest? Majestic from afar and insurmountable in person They house my future Grave when settled snow becomes enthralled. Perhaps I am a mountain too! Looming in the distance and covered in crags, Desperately trying to provide immovable Views and permanence. Shall I compare your hands to vice grips? They soothe and stem my bleeding And rake new grooves in flesh in turn; My habits tend to make a mess. Perhaps I am a savage too! My taste for flesh is real but waning, My mood is made of intuition And my stomach guides my face. Time to buy some roller skates.
