Thoughts of Men

In our heads

we store pockets

of sin and disregard.

There’s no real

calling card for

these cognitions.

No positions

You can feel.

In the real world,

when I meet a girl,

I’d shake her hand,

smile

maybe talk for a while.

A smile from me

is possibly darkness.

A stark nest of

inappropriate actions and

infractions of the soul.

My goals are always satisfaction.

I can’t

show you that.

You can’t know the fact

that under my hat

You’ve sat on my face…

a time or two.

Committed, crimes

in a state or two.

These thoughts

considered victories

in a game

you’re not playing.

Considered exclamations

in a sentence

you’re not saying.

And you’ve been defiled.

I mean just

Degraded.

Shaded to the point

of shame.

Raided to the point

of fame.

You’ve pulled my hair

screaming, “Oh God!”

As I’ve touched you there

And there

And…there

And that sends a flare

into the sky

above your head

And this dead air,

that may be a second,

is the third time

I’ve blurred the lines

between inappropriate

and “Holy shit!”

I mean thank the lord

you can’t be poured

into my mind

in that 10

to 15 second time

when you go from

stranger to known.

Because your mind

would be blown

by my audacity.

My absolute capacity

for filth.