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sweaty and mental,
Like Some Kind of Disgusting Animal;
cliffside over crashing waves,
I scream this slobbering ode into torrid sheets of wind for thee:
"Mercury! Who loves ya, baby?
You know, it's not so much the crazy beautiful people that traverse your terracotta tiles,
nor is it the delicious espresso that courses through your veins and out your metal pores-
no!
For how superficial would my 'love' be if that were all?
The truth is that I adore, my dear, adore those tiles and those pores,
and with loving gesture and fond caress
do I shammy your every nook and j-cloth your every cranny."
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