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There's No Cure for Rabies

de I've Made Too Much Pasta

Yet I float with felicity on a nerve,
For I have seen you more than just your curve.
A stage below the fame and shame.
Abound of burlesque queens in shades.
How abrupt are those testosterone panics.
Arouse sweetly on lap dances' manic.
Overexpose every hidden inch of skin of thine.
Tonight we hollow these bottles and gnaw our devils tight.
Encrypting all religious morals inside.
Our osseous framework bodies, may us drown in wine.
Drown in wine.
We owe none sins from god, dear divorcees.
So fold thy senses into enigmatic origamis.
Share me a taste of what you have learnt since you have ended here.
As we both perspire alcoholic sweats in a seat comforts of cashmere.
Endowed of lust and luscious kisses.
We ov raindrop on roses.

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