it's your T-shirt, you shaky shaky, those big suckling chords. you stunner gun, staple diet, long-socked, high spire, much aligned curly swirl. wonder boots. boots to lick. i'd crawl & i'd lick the boots under your boots. i'd walk for those shoes. walk to rock the boots that kick. please. teach me to walk.
[insert wild copper top looped bass riff here]
you need the alphabet soldered into your scratch plate. you say E & i'll lunch on a mile for one of your Ps, you X, you Z. poling my poles. you stoic, poetic boy. my mink metaphor. standing in for a word I can't pronounce. many have tried & many have fed you. i eat you, now, carrot by carrot, fringe by fringe. swollen, up against bowled angst.
[the bridge: circling the stomach of cool]
you do & you will & you Spike Milligan me right in the right of me. so right. let me play a melody of you, let me create chorus, verse, bridge, back to verse again, let me middle eight you all the way to four & a half minutes. let me staccato your ribcage & rip my A string in song to you. i smoke you, note by note, foot by foot.
[end on fourth beat with a little left to spare …