Leech
2006
It isnt wrong to leech
my smelly hands under water
freedom of speech
Im the foster daughter
Strokes of a sister,
ill-prepared for pain
cure my fever blister,
or Im goin insane
A tense, cosy womb,
the seventh month
bedight my future tomb
with cryptic bumf
Obsolete tongue,
Im skilled to score
and soon again among
the ones I adore
It isnt wrong to teach
the ones who want to know
midnight flesh and leech
all I want is an afterglow
