Asquereso (Disgusting)

Way beyond the sun's routine,
Is a man with a promise to the world,
And a fist-clenched, fingers-curled,
But no more,
Does it all fade,
Into cellulite.

Into cellulite

Where do we go when we don't know,
The content overflows,
Like a bastard in the throes,
Of a magician
Telling stories.

Telling stories.

Tonight I seek your attention deficit,
Something more than just a dance,
Inside my calmy, little hands,
When I awoke your sense of doubt,
Post-calling-me-a-lout,
I'm not allowed.

To see you.

These quiet walls are quite rearview material

I don't intend on looking back but it's true.


To some degree,
To some a lot of masters,
Choosing modern slavery,
So the options are asunder, but they're there
Like the thought of starting over,
Free will and free hors d'oeuvres,

What's not to like

Like you.