Twelve Twelves

The medium is a massage for your middle
A twiddle, pinky and thumb
Concentric grips, coming to lips
With fealty, the certain tee shirt

Irremovable 
Not so redeemable either 
A tattoo of a different bamboo
Boundary fountains, too mountainous 

For a fifth soft frambois
Fortitide, solitude, attitude 
The nomenclatural empire
A visicloth, too silken for comfort

Milking the weeds' honeyless meade
Grim, dim, a shallow shim
As gross as twelve twelves

An infinite weariness 
That only wears of 
Under the weather