A Toy Poem by Her Pot

You offering me these fries is an indication.
Look at you,
Flushed with sun. Sweat trailing from your twinkling eyes, down to your crevasses best served as a feast
Magnetizing me on the carousal, executing it like a bawse
I just want to halt your next breath… and the one after that
An immortal binger riding the Ghost Rider
You're the phenomenon I seek
Refresh my memory of all those tricks, Miss. Magus
Tightened hands, bending wills, painted lips, hips, and drills
Now and again, I might ram your bumper car
Mimicking a clown. Moving, darting, sprinting, skidding to a stop
But to be fair, you alone I call, the lion tamer
Seasons of talking and laughing and mind reeling
Feeding you cotton candy blues
And never call it a day without
A series of hued explosions unravelling in the Saleen
I know,
I know,
I always toy my luck with you
Assuming your plush can be won with a piece of cake
Well boys will be boys
And, the mystery remains
Why do you, Miss. Magus, continue to circle back?
To the rayless Milky Way that is me
Half crazed by the loneliness of space
Existing too airy, too gentle, too temperamental
Daily daft rebellions, just to smash on
I am stimulated by the core of you
And you unveil a million reasons to stay
Still, I opt to go, anyway

/pa.tʁis/