Humping your whiz bag, tied
A Sparkle stick to it. Inside
Snake oil kit, trunked my knees,
Breathed a drill bit. One hole.
Your shirt through that hole
Is a tongue in my monocle. Your
Tongue in that pitch is
My starlight mint suckled.
A swell heart huffs my shirt,
Gets a gewgawed with gimcracks and
Tongue is a nose stroke.
Tugging your child. I long
like the latch click, hung
in sequins of gripping. For
Breath is the fretwork of endness.