Suddenly, I will make miracles in the attic
I'll do the chicken drunk as hell.
It's spring for everybody else too, you know.
Lean in, liebes kind, speak into my curls
bitter little nothings I am a garbled razor
thinking its way across your throat.
Your spit tastes like spit in your mouth
and your tongue is bite-size.
Listen. I didn't mean it that way.
I'll make you make it make sense.
I let the sorry out of the bag
and stuff you in instead and sell you to the gypsies.
With your no-nonsense hair, mein liebes kind,
please take me back into your hot, hot mouth.
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