only here's where i'm naive wearing my emotions on my sleeve's, where i believe where i make an ass out of me, & make assumptions not through poetry, through my dreams when i go to sleep you & me, are a production a performance piece not war & peace still, somewhere where, there's a scene & we’re so obnoxious with people watching, from the mezzanine with their mini binoculars i'd pull up a chair if i wasn't already there, relaxing in your rear passionately, pulling your hair gently or intensely sounding like a bull in your ear testing your spleen, mirroring obscene till i'm, appearing in your dreams my intentions, is hearing you scream, lustfully & feeling your cream, gushing me till you're discussing me with, whoever you're with as if i'm a myth, a hieroglyph this exodus, is cutlery experts insist, i wish for joint custody of more than your lips, between your hips unluckily, & what's yuck to me, is none of the above even exist except, last night when we first kissed oh, & i guess, when you was fuckin’ me