My love for you is like a slimey trail
left by an unformed thing of chaos
as it oozes along the desert sands.

Foolish little girls like to step in it,
drag feet across the beautiful ichor
because they can't get you off their mind.

I'm struck by their stupidity. Hmmmm.
Why must everything be so difficult?
When all I want to do is write

poems about the way your balloons dilate
my heart with quirky line breaks
zig-zagging like a snap to their face.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Mayan, in the year 604 AF.