Love Me With The Photics of Marginalia
I walk through the template of love, where your name still frightens my mind, and the sulky marmots tell a story about falsetto . . .
Give me vibraphones which it’s a warm of your love,
Give me sand dollars so I can hold to cover my feeling,
Miss me if I am gone, “one whose appearance causes a grimace.”
Love me with the pessary of moping,
For a digression without digression,
Just like lumps that shed from it’s therapy,
Can we see a sarcasm once more?
Wherever ducks and nightwalkers sing?
O. . . Mumbled brute, give me a love,
Until my eyes can’t speak hymen anymore.
Otohime 
Someone wrote in to compliment this poem, but anonymously, so alas, I mayn’t publish it. Anyway, they liked it.
I wrote what I wanted to be an echo, but it wasn’t. But it makes me laugh anyway. “Love Me with the Photogenesis of Margarine”Alert prosthetics partnerPressing the bellow, Pavarotti release partyI am driving my choral varicose to the medicIn my mellow mushroom station wagonPuckering Starfish Gasoline“Back in 5 minutes”Uncle love is the best corollaryThe socket is for electric niceBut I’m getting off the discussion bargeCan I speak to dieselMy face is a lion with odorPracticing Icy MisgivingsI have answered the bargain of itchy voice