Race me around the raspberries,
until we twirl like the Damned,
like hurricane nostalgia,
and herds of pockets, slammed,
’til we buckle under senses,
and we overthrow the Fates,
like antiquated liquor,
or plush, sword-enflamed gates.
Let us run to sanguine grottos,
where they worshipped on all fours,
I will enshrine you in gold;
idolize me on doors.
Forget your vague, lacy lovers,
forget your cavernous halls,
come meet with me in sultry
caves; in violent withdrawals,
I am verse and agitation,
you are shepherd most profound;
We could be the ones to stop
the world from turning ’round.