Girl: It was saturday night, and the cement was signing autographs with filth grins. The Rat marks on the street corner described these prostitute hymns that stick in the back of my throat

Boy: Don't Worry Darlin', you sad sonnets soak through me like a long-winded movie.

Darlin': As the prey falls closer, the lion capped teeth spew froathy oaths of solitude. Limit my intake. Soldier stories cloak her in a cum-filled freeze frame.

Girl: These Glasses are half full. Glasses are secreating stubborn infant gasps. The oral execution hangged around my throat, chokes me like a wall street necktie. It's Time For Acting, It's Time For Slavery.

Boy: Lace my paradox with tear suits, girl. I like to see emotion cascading down your landscape face like a horizon. My favorite bible was the was stitch made out of hymens.

Darlin': My chest sprints gather in a frantic parade of masked butchers. 8mm eyes, 12 inch thighs. They peer like lecherous debutants writting their speech in moans. Come scoop me up and lather me full of kind words and intercourse meals.

I am hungry for meaning. Please, cough the last bit of dignitiy out of me so I'd have something to write home about. My mother was an atheist, she speaks only in godless chimes. My father was a bachelor, he cries only in oak leaf ties. Give me more substance so I can stand with the mountains, and lay like my brothers crypt.