I live at the edge of your scimitar
The wind rushes through my hair
As though I were reeds on the Shatt-el-Arab
And you a debauched river god

I paint you naked, telling you art is for art’s sake
Then I wash the painting away when you ain’t looking.
Life is only an excuse
To get you to strip
And spread my legs.
.
You score me as though you were the hand of God,
Virginity is a small price to pay to be able to laugh
Jesters can bring kings down on their knees.
(Though I can’t tell you what happens afterwards

Horses ride, winds blow
Why should I care for nature
When you can do better than both?


~scio amo