Babbling about building a home in Eden as I dabble
from your vast array of temptations and poisoned apples,
I want to sow my seeds in your garden of vegetables
so I can devour your vital vitamins and minerals.
I’ll grow you a bouquet of beautiful flowers
straight from a pile of my own fecal matter,
once I soak my sack in a powerful aphrodisiac
so there’s no doubt I can lay you on your back.
I need you on your knees begging please,
as I may easily contract your venereal disease.
Even unprotected your face flinches with concern,
unless you drain yourself of my tainted sperm.
You may wash me away like oceanic erosion
or rip me out with a coat hanger as a late-term abortion
and evict me from the shelter of your fetal home,
then toss me in a dumpster behind the prom so I might be alone.
You could read between these lines contextually,
because I would like to reproduce, and not asexually,
since you make me feel like some notion of a man,
instead of some guy with external genitalia in hand.
