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How can I
get through that sweetly insipid innocence?
Jump through, and land in a damp swamp?
No, I'd rather go bicycling
Around it,
and enjoy its nearly impenetrable sogginess
Starred with flowers so magnificently sickly
Only the most rotted self-deception regarding the value of their own virtue,
could impel them.
Another
thing I like doing a lot
Is helping you across busy boulevards
With a specially enlargeable hand
Implying
friendly aid at first,
Secondly a growing degree of passion;
--Then I inflate it and make it throb! I also enjoy
Watching you tremble in otherwise empty, echoing underground tunnels
How you cry out in horror when days turn even slightly cloudy
Your wonderful trembling, too, when
we sit
side-by-side and the clock strikes
midnight
And kayaking in mid-Atlantic, alone.