Eight Hour Half Life


I am a Mystical
MotherFucker.

Armed with
Grey dancing pants
Righteous wife beater &
Red Lipsticked Smooch
I just might psychostimulate
your appendages
when you least expect it
when it's 11:30 p.m., last call
& the ice in my
sex on the beach
starts clink clinking
less & less.

Bud Light in one hand,
your thumb softly strumming
a ( barstool ) leg,
I just might slice
my delicate, intricate
holy motherfucking
way through the
red green blue purple yellow i don't know pulsations &
invite you to
Haldol shuffle
break ( it ) on down
with Me.

Trust me, I'll simulate
your multiple daily dose
like no girl's ever simultated it
before. Destabilize your membrane.
Mood swing &  mouth expletives
while the convulsions chew
like static electricity
through our feet.

6 A.M. we'll discuss the states
of our mental health
over Waffles, Syrup & Strawberries
slip sliding to, from & over
the bedposts.

Then I'll wipe the sleep from
my eyes & Betty Lou Beet you
Mary Ann Cotton you
Eva Braun you while
I adjust tethers, double knot, slither
sleek black cord
thin glass vials
in & out of my
berry pouty pouty
lips.

I have a tip toeing suspicion
You like it rough & O Boy
I can make it so rough,
I've learned to
make it so rough
you'll slap your own ass
& say Yes, Mystical
MotherFucker, Mam!

How about it?

You.
Me.
Eight Hour Half Life.
No Safe Words.

Just Mumbles
Purrs
Swallows

The End?