A Davy Jones locker
With frolicsome hips
With submarine, dyglo-
Sherbet lemon, lips.
Does lazily toreador..?
Then mantis—she just; sits.
With wide-eyed hardcore
Pointing geographic tits!
“Oh, I’ve no reason
Not to gently kiss”
This seraph this urchin,
There’s nothing here amiss.
On my dead nettle {Haulm...}
Rough-hewn, up-right and davit:
I feel her evanesces... Eureka..!
What’s just a man’s nihilistic habit?
Is her first real..! Eureka! ...
Crying like the four winds...
Of a typhoon driven ocean
Clutching perils in whirlwinds
A siren sings my entire yeoman
Guard to an epée duel.