my words are like

rats with wings, pigeons

picking up discarded topics and

eating them, lately though

their taste has refined, favoring

you over all others, so i have to

confess (no that's done)

adulate (nope, finished as well)

anything but

this this this, writhing in my skin

asking "why" and "why not"

so why not

why never

(je ne sais qui)