You are the content
of my creation,
the authoritative black skull
on the back of a harlot's knees.

Your milk pulses blue,
a vibrant dinosaur glow
that sinks deep beneath
the crust of the past.

You're all bat skeletons
and golden maid remixes,
dancing slowly past the bubble gum parade,
in no imagination spankx and yesterday's eyeliner.

I'd behead the first healthy born,
with scaled axe and miner's pick,
leaving no skin scales attached,
just to get a piece of that.

06/07/2013