Yes, the early morning
When the cat’s paws
phantom of the opera
snowdrops on control buttons
Electronic keys
You in your cancerean transparency
Satin on perfect breasts champaigne
I push your button
You respond
It’s the morning and
The cat’s paws
Like the dawn creeps
Gradual as the cooling of a bath
We can’t fake the snowflake
All individual; all the same
For the time being
Being in four/four common
Cut with our milk-sugar or laxitive
I can’t contain my cocaine ambition
I strive for your thighs
The silken length
And firm response
Grant me admission to your thighs
I frequently start forest fires.
