You said I was as sweet as vanilla
but only when it's straight from the bottle.
You bit me,your lips sewn with fleece so it did not sting.
And why do you set the water temperature
to steam when its ninety-two degrees and
the shower curtain is embarrassed by
its incapability to block out the sun?
You lather to rid impurities
but I've lost track of which
of the droplets skating on your skin
were tossed down from the piping stream
or had risen out of biological response.
You're pure and your intentions reflect it,
Though the consequence is to inadvertently craft a
an alluring morass of paradoxical scenes
left for me to untangle.
What I would give to wriggle my tiny body
into your ear, following the electric paths to arrive
inside of your mind - just a peek
The reality: a discomfort of never being able to understand.
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