Every time I see you, inside the other you,
I whimper.

Every time I squeeze the milk maid,
I see the land of milk and honey.

Every time I masterbate,
I cry for all the genocide.

I see bad spelling, smell biscuits,
cut roses, lit fire, and aging dogs.
Metaphors of exacting strength.
A nest of wires frayed by nothing.

I see desperation.
I see no legs to stand on.

Every time I see your mirror,
I see him talking to the ground.