You're tense and unctivous,
salacious in your uncertain frown,
the eyes seeing back into your own head,
carrying the loaded tree until the last fruit was eaten off by a squirrel,
could you have picked it,
what was it worth,
are you innocent,
were you,
and how do you put a comma
where a period would have been happy
while feeling all the while
a semi running down your colon.
Discuss your disgust with the ungrateful wind gust,
entendre your fountain and watchful you must,
sent for the scent and you heard it in nostrils,
jawlines and hair fine and won't you be here;
stoppages start ages with eons at bay,
forages carriages freon's cold spray,
keeping us cold on the days when we want,
berries in freezers and breaking our jaunt.
Roman Ryan 