Tugs

If loyalty is all,
I face, roundly,
your effacement of
my standard.

Songfulness enters
it, and love's uselessness
functions like slicing
a mango,
rivulets of a pressed pit
scurrying into my sleeves,

and I am forced to angle
my elbow downward, if
loyalty is all. I can
oh, pardon us.

The redemption of wonder,
for one, that your childish
nostalgia can offer us,
"a school",
seminal saturation,
square quotes proper,
earrings of bike tires.


But more proper
to say the respect for
a possibility! I may not
yell anymore,
my sweet work screams.
I'd like to leave pretty
and soon, even while
you stick around. But oh,

loyalty is all and
possibility, you damn
leathered red floozy.