Untitled 01
An experimental poem from The Untitled Collection.
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.

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