He Doesn'T Love It More Than I Do Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

I know now who owns it....
I covet it....
I shall get up...tonight....
I shall swallow it whole....
carry it to my bed...dream myself inside of it...
.....live there
until next Tuesday.....
hear the street music....the rumbles and clangs.....
until next Tuesday....
he won't know what has happened....
as I'll have swallowed him and his turning light.....
he owns it because he can....
I swallow it because I can....
until next Tuesday.............
he loves it, too....with his fine eyes and his grapes.......his multitudes....