Cheese

You are that sallow square,
covered by your cadaverous creme.
You smell odd, oh dear cheese,
but how I enjoy licking you,
licking you.

Oh who?
Who cut my cheese?
As a draught,
perhaps... of a shrinking olfactory abomination;
oh come, sweetly accost!

In a flurry of smells,
my cheese was moved,
moved into my voluble, inconsolate tounge,
so desperately waiting to lick you,
just waiting to lick you.

And off to the closet,
inundated with the water.
There, you came to visit me again,
not as how I would like to dream it be,
or in the impressionable fashion
of how an angel would appear to a mother.

I just decided to let go.
Or rather,
you let yourself out like how babe Jesus was let out. (but through two orifices instead of one)
And to save yourself a lifetime of tedium,
you probably bashed your head into a myriad pieces, ( I think you have brown blood)
haphazardly swiming and imparting your colour.

Maybe I should stay away from you.
It is not my fault that I am lactose intolerant;
you just came at the wrong time,
and you are coming of both ends.
It is just that, I don't think I will lick you again,
ever lick you again.

cuRRent...jer

  ¶ 10:08 pm