Oh, I have been kept,
too long
refrigerated.
My tongue itches for links of
Vienna, a
swallow of
germ juice. Emptiness is
a plague,
a manic,
internal,
thirst.
My crossed legs quiver
on cue at
red storms
ice score
over a Ranger Hound. Ah!
What a hallucination
I devour!
A deserving,
choice
New York Strip
with  liquor lips
and packing hands.
Dear Desire, would craving be
craved if
bark met
bark even once??
If so, I’ll keep the craving and
you can
keep the steak.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 