Cold Feet Disease

I am touching you

inappropriately licking your skin

on this hill top that no one can see

Saturn’s rings are punishing me

for loving you

girls’ skin melts off the bone 

staining boiled blood in some time traveler’s eyes 

father’s body is rotting away and all the remains is 

being lit for classy Brits and horny war heroes

three musketeers are dying off from some cold feet disease 

While God is adopting a bum on a cross to make a point

you are undressing, and I am pressing my luck

making tingles from touch to touch

and I am feeling pretty

we are singing melodic tones

we are fucking

in beds, on cotton, 

while creators applause  

but Billy’s stuck in time

through doors, sheets, and sleep

being unimpressed of life

and loosing faith in death

so it goes