He likes when she is flushed from the shower
her vermilion veins vermicular
peel her proud pallor particular
her wet hair knotted whiskery eels, and her sour
peppered white-sauce musk
her voice's pre-caffeinated husk.
The dawn upon her steaming flesh is like lobster
and the deliciousness of suffering obscene,
and she is clawed and cruelly conquered at wealth's whim
as lobsters are so readily. Those to glut their gut
upon her find her screaming seasoning sweetly satisfying.
How noble, and how lovely-tragic she, effaced by greasy gluttony.
He will call her Lobster with inflection of affection.
She will leave him for a lawyer.
Phraseology of lovemaking is limited,
and leaves little leeway for lobsters.
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It's odd, and very messy, I know. But I'm just purging cause I can write nothing remotely readable these days. Or any days. Anyway, feel free to point and mock and laugh,
