Like matchsticks soaked in olive oil, his detumescent pudenda, Lubricated with espresso & soymilk, against a backdrop of blacktop

, He sets before her, registered in fifteen counties as a interspecies sex offender, But also a genuinely nice guy, a shy fop, and a bit of a metaphysical rent-a-cop.

“Dear madam,” so he says to her, “please let me make my case, “And you can judge me as a man, radiating viridescent bioluminescence, “You can judge my stature & stamina, as the apex of my race, “And consider my pathetic plea, down on one knee before your presence.”

“What do you want?” she responds. “I’ll consider the celebrity “In sunglasses at midnight. Yes, I’ll wait for chipotle-flavored iguana “In a latin restaurant frequented by the elderly. I’ll live in a city “Of rum & obesity. And I’ll be gregarious whenever I wanna.”

Into Blake Street’s birthmark, not so much a pothole as a furious chasm, Like lime squeezed in your cocktail of pain, he revs his engines. His last girlfriend was a dugong, one suspected of artificial orgasm, But now he comes to her with proposed fealty, humility, and courtly vengeance.

“Dear madam,” so he says to her, “If you find it convenient, “Come live with me & let me be your Nicolas Sarkozy. “Loud as space & silent as a dinosaur’s covenant, “Please consider my pathetic pleas, perfumey, chocolatey & rosy.”

“What do you want?” she responds. “I’ll consider my colonoscopy “Broadcast live on CNN. I’ll give careful consideration “To a dead reindeer, yes. And I’ll keep a daily diary “Of my expectral viscosity, yes, I’ll log every expectoration.”

Like a burnt up matchstick, beneath a dwarf magnolia, He sits expired. Then, like Russia rearing his head above Alaska, He ascends & at first stutters uttering the world “allolalia”, Collects himself & asks her faster than an answer from a pastor from Nebraska.

“Dear madam,” so he says to her, “Do you have any plans this Friday? “Would you be available to me my date at a movie premiere? “It’s about the liquid siftings of pigeons, making the shroud untidy, “Staining the rain white Friday night: Would you consider accompanying me there?”

“What do you want?” she responds. “My parents are in town Friday, “But I’ll consider a rain check. Yes, there's a goatee growing “On my chin music. I’ll consider scuttlebutting society, “And fiends aflame! Pull up your zipper, your panties are showing.”

Into Blake Street’s birthmark, we find an underground conquistador Hoarding gems & he discovers a fountain of liquid youth. Meanwhile, a NASA shuttle has erupted from the water And whizzes past Messenger Mercury, loose like the truth is sometimes uncouth.

“Dear madam,” so he says to her, “Consider my plumage, “My pinions stretched to the four compass points, my pettifoggeries “Exiled to the ends of the earth. Consider the night nurse’s rampage: “Consider a marriage beneath Berkeley’s blossoming magnolia trees."

“What do you want?” she responds. “I’ll consider letting you have it. “I’ll put our pre-nup in the shredder & toss the shreds in a salad. “No, I've judged your stamina & I'm snugglier now than a pregnant rabbit. “Now consider my innocence, & know my imagination's hesitation was valid.”


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