The Country Will Bring Us No Peace

Sun soaked and citrus kissed Ribbons slipped from oily wrists Linen hung lover Miss Picture of Pastoral Bliss "A belt of straw and Ivy buds, With Coral clasps and Amber studs" And the ecology of this IKEA rug Tequila, coffee, cum, and blood Call me daddy, feed me meat In the realm of obsolete Well, charm, just like the soil, depletes When ambition won't accept defeat Will I uncover your private longings While I gather some of of my own Watching tears fall like a warning Hear the practice in your tone Burn of barley, burn of rye Diagnosed and classified I struggle to remember why All washed up and pacified I swallow plumes of hickory hair As summer sighs a vulgar prayer I've worn my path down wicked stairs To wash and fold your underwear Why don't I cut up that melon While you roll yourself a joint Then you lay back and put your feet up Let me rub your pressure points.