on the third night after popping the cork the organic red wine tastes like diamonds lost at sea, interesting. isn't it fortunate, then that I may enhance the full flavor of my passion for protecting the diamond of my love- what you call "cunt" my performance over the top of the line of the security blanket of your electronics cold calculating deviant plans your music, a channel for your shame women, just "fucks" to be conquered as your unrequited mother love and father who taught you home like tasting the finest red wine I've loved you since before your recollection years spent, on hills and in fields a feathered roach clip in your brown shoulder length hair not smiling, with a glint in your eyes