Standards = gratification & supposition

When I think of love letters

I fall into the comfort of dreams

The nightmares of writing without you in mind

Nearly deranged I let the monsters out of the closet

The fear of the unknown tickles our anxiety

There’s no correct order in this disarray

No one is ready for the tumble

Expecting Afro punk sounds to soothe

Does fools gold not shine

Does forbidden fruit not taste sweet

Does the warnings signs not say “yield” instead of “stop”

I penetrate levels of discomfort 

Before I penetrate levels of your labia majora 

Your vulva was the chasm of peace in need of disruption

The hematite of my cool surrendered to your eruption

You are the earth stone to this unbeknownst flower child

Your endless probes engaged our globes to new axis

I was drawn to rising above all the struggles your past bore

I groan every time our countries disseminate  

I moan every time our nations spar in our sex wars

I loathe ever not doing it all righteoughly
With virtuous suitable traits I administer precision equitably.