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.