Strike a match just to smell it burn.
Pick a lily just to touch the silk.
The record’s playing, but just watch it turn
as your mind feels groggy as sour milk.
Strawberry juice stains my lips;
slides like a serpent down the palm;
artily smears my finger tips.
At last-your breathing’s calm.
Why are you standing over there?
Venture to me if you dare.
In flimsy dark I’m waiting here,
and the Hungry likes to share.