Amative
As the idyll leaves me one more time
Making me hunt for another scent
All the tender perfumes
All the summer sandals gouge in me
Making me paw like a mating hart
All the girls, seeing my weakness, juggle with me
Everyday another tuning is having its way
Feeling like Pete – attracted by mass but died all alone
Envying Nick – solemnly praised and turned to stone
Always try to please them
Always try to feed them with a flirt
Bidding my love for fifty cents
Like a dog I’m handled
Like a doll I’m mangled in their arms
Opening sores in any part
My taste is forming
My moral is spoiling
Am I rising
As God of fashion?