yes we can split the onion rings
ill drape the napkin over your thighs
lets write the things we'd never dream of saying with the grease on the placemat.
yes we can pull off the battered flesh
ill drape it over your knuckles
your hair starving and dirty,reminds me of a horticulturist,
skin removed our plate holds earthworms,
Till the transparent topsoil.
while I spread rumours
about myself to the waitress.
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