How tasty are the words
You’re spitting,
Like verses
And my nerves
Are tired,
You breathe
And here I think
I feel you kisses down my neck,
But it’s your tasty, lovely noose,
That’s making me obtuse
A silly goose
That tastes like chocolate moose.
Oh, let me dip into you,
The lovely spruce
Of infinite envy
And infinite hope,
Infinite nothings
And old tired tropes.
I lay at your feet,
Still signalling deep,
Your words are like tasty desires and sins,
I’m mesmerised by your hollowness within.

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