"How does that feel? And that? And this? Look, gusts
Of leaves swirling in a trance, man — heart flutters;

Hey, Pretty Boy, loll on me; like it's midnight, ghosts
Rise off the hot car hood; these are the queer words
I whisper, man — 'Pretty, Pretty Boy'; you see,
With my tongue and my hands, I can be a king
For you, like heart's mirror, like truth — look at me;

Don't be like the rest — look at me! That stinking
Girl's in your thoughts; I can see her fantasy moves,
But you'd be wingtip borne, an impresario queen
With me, you, who has forgotten the scents of my love;

These Felicia thoughts — why can't you let me wean
Them from you? In my heart you're the moon that pulls;
I'm the tide and you draw me to you, suckled, full..."