, , ,

that flower on your thigh is
seldom blossomed however I 
bring out the caravan, as I,
the one with foot pedals and beads,
I, the one who is that guardian,
I am the one who waters it
but such is your undoing, undancing
that particular disposal, circling round
for the purpose of disguise, against
the unwelcomed hero of our pasture
accepting the clause of your
fortune, the clouds of my
brainstorm, and the gentlemen
caught up in your delights