Slimy Clementines
A town of radiating colors that mimic my fruit
My fruit, the real fruit? No, maybe my fruit and the fruit.
as the color of my nipples is perhaps seen in the sky
Before it turns dark and the bats begin to fly.
The scales on my belly beg lost
But I feel a slimy clementine and hallucinate of skin
For all I can think of is smokey breath and eyes so dark
That they reflect the moon
So there I am making eye contact with a place
seldom touch by man and hardly by woman.
If you dream of me will you tell me it’s worth it?