An experimental poem by Patrick Prunty.

Deliciously delicate so delectable this.

This kicking, squealing Gucci little piggy. So tiffany twisted.

Wrap your wristy round the places we cannot see. A voluptuous touch like electricity.

Gargalesis joy. I could kill you this way. Death by ticklation. It's not the worst way to go.
    — I do not like them, she says. Not really.
The lush overgrowth above, callus below. Baby-pink is your favourite colour. This little piggy got the message.

If you can put your mouth around it, it is a toe, if not, a foot. Shut your eyes to see.

I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them Sam-I-Am. Decontract to contract the whole body. Bam. Oh, you like that?
    — Could be better.
Could be dead.

I wonder if I can trace an Odyssey in your wrinkle. My index like this all curved and pressing. Rubbing. Gently. So delectable this.
    — Was that the door? Slit. Somebody home.

Goodnight sweet ladies. Goodnight. Goodnight now ladies.
— O Mastress mine where are you roaming?
Gone again to fondle furry circuits I-Am.

YES. YES. YES.