Gimme that sensation
a thousand times a day, please,
I want to play with with those
cold tingles up and down my hide,
feel the pulse of what our all-knowing
never-blinking inward eye sees and
get high and inebriated with expression's
grateful bounce off of, into and all around
just what it's all about. We are species from
tip toe to wavy, slightly frayed, kinda
frizzy yet still so elegantly orange hair,
so act like it when you ought to, or if
not just slightly breathe to take in
that nicely cooling, somewhat serene
"so my country" air. Fuck fancy, buy in large
or supersized if you want to. Have big nightmares,
if it's your fancy, or dreams if you prefer.
Spend whole days in bed exploring the touch concepts
"of each other" and fall in love. Or fall in debt just
to claw your way out of it. See the world how you
need to, in your eyes, colorblind to red-blue.
But what is love? What is the world?
And what exactly is who are you? Don't care,
I know children who try to tell me their
love is mightier than thou. I know adults
who keep insisting that the world is round.
There are countries where you're expected to
die before you retire, but I live in one where
you can relax.