Will you paint my face?
I’ll give you a pint of Bajada’s blood.
Shape with a hole through me
That blinds you to whatever you seem to see
Never care much
Always come lust
If you were not so crowed with pleasure
Perhaps you could’ve used your hands for sure
By plucking my soul
& stretching my mind
Sounds would have came out differently
You stumble upon what’s beyond you
Being smitten with you.
[écrit en 1997]