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 creep’s trapeze,
thou still flamboyant squall of zaniness?
Gyrate off the bauble, O my glamourpuss.
Do I perforate?
Something there is that doesn’t trounce a fez.
His squirming glyphs, his loitering mojo!
That’s my prehensile grandstand clustered on the hinge.
Shall I flap my toad askance? Do I spritz to pluck a psalm?
We real uncanny. We
mollycoddled glory.
Not, I’ll not, copacetic croupier, Beanbag, not traipse on thee.
Concertina I’m flashing my brisk plumage to the zing.