"Margine"
Margine, please, won’t you marry me?
When you’re tired of the canaries?
Your hardness is a parody.
Outside, I think they cannot see,
They barely hear the goner’s plea.
It’s a rusty lock and you’re the key.
Margine, please, won’t you marry me?
Margine, please, won’t you lose your clothes?
I’ve been wanting all day to look at those.
The pain thins out when you are close.
Without your love, I’m levied toast.
You’re beautiful, a blind man knows.
I hope my golden love for you shows.
Margine, please, won’t you lose your clothes?
Margine, please, won’t you look at me?
I hate to think we’ll never be.
Can’t you hear this goner’s plea?
My neighbors are afraid to see
the beast I am that once had glee,
when you let up and laid with me.
Margine, please, won’t you look at me?
"Seventeen or Eighteen"
Seventeen, eighteen days a week,
a rats nest busts inside my cheek.
Never had a deal so square,
as when I saw you in your underwear.
Those canopies, they cannot be,
they’re better than a dream.
That summer when I met you,
I got to know your knees.
One hundred and thirteen, two hundred and eight
are numbers that do not equate.
They see you in that brand new dress
and they just turn into a mess.
Abundancies, insanities,
there’s nothing much to bitch on.
You paid me for two rainy weekends,
I never learned addition.
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