Strangers and, "The things that happen."

There's nothing like being particular about your wants.
Some don't know and some just do because they haven't found it yet.
I know I should be grateful but, I'm still hungry...

I haven't found her yet.

I don't know what she looks like but, she's got hips like eons,
A perfection that took a thousand years
With a will as vibrant and black as my fingers.
My hope is that through miles of uncertainty
Words call and bring her closer.

I wonder if she would share my blasphemy and
Hatred for the status quo?
Beauty is in the way her spine drips down her back,
Movement in motion like teardrops from scars.

The name of a strange sort of suffering has a taste on God's green earth.
It's wicked what we call each other as if we puppet mouths
To kiss with common spite like forever was ours to murder kin.

I want you to hate us for the fact that we're human
Loving us for the fact that we share our filth.