Would you think I am hungry if I ate your black eyes
Would you serve them to me on a bed of crushed ice
(beluga caviar) lemon, butter and spites
Would you throw in your heart and give me a spoon
Or would you just hold my hand while we gaze at the moon
Should I throw yesterday’s rotten apple away? I was not quite a hunter, nor even a pray
Should I stop feeling nauseous before I feel dead
I’d rather indulge in your lashes instead
Are they sweet are they sour or bitter or dumb
Just make it a double I won’t leave a crumb
Can I stop being fair and trade my worm for a snake
How much lust can I bear, how much love can I make?
But cravings live little and I may not care at all for deserts
Just tell me who it is that irons your shirts