I
like my milkshake without lumps,
I
like my camels without humps.
Doors
that open from all four sides;
clothed
whores and naked brides.
I
have files and folders in my head,
I
have exactly one loaf of bread.
Graphs,
grids and sixty nine flowcharts;
I
draw squares and circles – not hearts.
But
then you walk into the room,
your
lips apart, your voice a boom.
Your
body a map of deep blue curves;
the
burning loins of a hundred pervs.
Straight
lines quietly conspire a circle,
close
upon Reason with a chuckle.
Push
me off my pointy cliff;
ring
the bell, call for a tiff.
Colours
collide, cry foul and fake,
in
my heart – a sigh and an ache.
Files
and folders are torn apart;
a
sly guffaw straight from the heart.
There’s
a quiet chaos, I’ve got to say.
Wearing
pink is no longer gay.
There
is no bulb that’s not a fan;
Gosh
darn it, I am a man!
I
am a man, so roll with it.
Let
it ensnare your mind bit by bit.
They’re
both the same – Dick and Puss.
So
suck it up, you fat-lipped wuss.
