You still tickle my feral gnomes,
babycakes, still blow 
my airbag of desire, make me 
slick as slippery silver salmon
of Sitka, Alaska,

make of men mincemeat
better than a bonesaw Prince,
so let them dub you
milk-spiller, mood killer,
trepanner of titular tortoises,

what do i care if you call
all hands to the sump
or discard a Trump,
i'll proselytize whatever
pyromaniac religion

you endorse & of course
i remember us in the park
perfecting our penguin walk,
shaking like dowagers 
as we shanked that talcum!

i loves you, porky,
like a technofeudalist
smooches his memecoin,
oh lighthouse-bollard i want
to be what you saw in me.