Cover Me in Chocolate

As my tears roll down

As I carve maps of constellations

into my neck with a surgeon’s

scalpel. Believe my words and

feel my thighs. See the man

in blue surrounded by yellow

stars. Buy me a Porsche. See

my art in museums. Feel the

cat up against the wall. Pick

me up at 8:00. They think Im

lost. But I only have two pupils.

Kiss my iris and burn cigarettes

in my skin. Hold my insecurities

in a box and record my

answering machine.

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.04.20.00:00:00@Earth