So much unfurls upon a dank gardenia
swirled with testosterone
beside the vast hackles.
The oblique prawn on my bra blared "Mambo me,
mambo when you zoom in!"
Shall I pimp-walk thee to a creepís trapeze,
thou still flamboyant squall of zaniness?
Gyrate off the bauble, O my glamourpuss.
Do I perforate?
Something there is that doesnít trounce a fez.
His squirming glyphs, his loitering mojo!
Thatís my prehensile grandstand clustered on the hinge.
Shall I flap my toad askance? Do I spritz to pluck a psalm?
We real uncanny. We
Not, Iíll not, copacetic croupier, Beanbag, not traipse on thee.
Concertina Iím flashing my brisk plumage to the zing.