Grey

After so much tasting, hurried humming
Staring at your eighties waist, high held, wandering Eye
driven by mercy and sacrifice of devouring
You and I, of the young foreign painters
whom you enjoy more than my ash and age
consumption and pretense for avoiding una bocca buona
bacchus, icicles cling there on your beach
you must be gay to enjoy them as I do
pushing and pulling, bending erect
sweaty molecules
of hormone and glee and harmony
seeming lost to you the conscient, malicious drudgery of flinging
and flittery surf. BooH!