Never been touched, only mishandled
love with a paper handle
heavy at the bottom, breaking through the bag
remnants of karma groceries
cans and bottles pioneering
at the corners, busting the seems
of spiritual prowess
Dixie cup spirits
mixing next morning's Advil and tonight's
monstrous heel
Never been trusted, only conceived
persuasive point of no return
Do you want to know what I can be?
put up on your face and treated
with a winter's grace
to sit there in all your glory
and fulfill your Sleeping Beauty
story, horny
another day since last night
saw your face on mine,
your eyes in my head piercing whim and whimper
I want to be lusted and mustered
and buttered, never burned
Handled with care
Where art thou ms. Sir?