Drunkard And His Wife Poem by Predicanda Emmons

i am the perfect concubine.
soul has been sadly drained.
large sea with its hunger hands
wisdom knows much more than me.

i keep putting in the lazy grass.
i am entwined with radish green
hung ineptly from obese leaf;
moonshine drink and caressing a drunk
keys grossly to the frontal lobe.

humor takes my hand unwaveringly,
it doesnt matter the hand belongs to me.
it wants to kiss the swig and the watery words,
mocks the divine and shimmers bright in the eye.

id like to see you duke it out with me,
id like to feel whats up your secret sleeve.
if you can expand to love, and win
and provide me the nectarine evidence,
i will indisputably knight you to a prince.