Please get yr eye out of my wanghole so I can proceed.

Please push yr eye so far into my wanghole that I fail. I need a collapse. Like
a swan rotating on a spit. I crawl into yr lap. The horizon is burning behind
us & draining into an iced-out pimp goblet. This goblet is the body of the
poem.

To get drained into. By some paradisical baller. This is to write.