A broken nose for me.
A dented skull for gravy.
A sense of macabre for two.
In wicked lashes, and between
gold rings smashes. My face a
wondrous canvas to move and bleed salt.
For what! For ones owns very fears of course.
A desert rose to grind with a dash of salt, for taste.
Angry, Maybe? Insane?
apologetically deranged
and at your service. Thank you.
Tea for you, and coffee for me.
Two lumps for the bitter coffee.
Three lumps for the watered tea.
Sugar is sweet, and a rare treat.
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