Monnosyllabic words die of hunger
They are sickly and anorexic
They'd better go to the monger
With their bony consonants
And desperate, puny vowels
The words are fastened together with dowels
This language that I can not speak
Elided words seem to my tongue a bit of a trick
For I never speak with adjectives or nouns
They waffle. They drown
in my throat behind the palisade of teeth
For I speak only with verbs
They all wear a thorny-rosy wreath
And a bunch of the star-crossed wiry crowns
How many sweet things
can we do
together
breaking the silence
She is a shameful whore
dressed in the gown of isolation and leather
We can prosecute her with just a creak of a door
Fancy
all the sweet sounds
that will bury her in the mounds
When we explore each other's mouths
let your tongue go a bit further to South
nearer
and nearer
(isn't it magic that superlatives make everything clearer?)
So now can you put your big and slick and monosyllabic noun
inside
and down
I'll open my long and lissom and monosyllabic nouns
wide
wide
wide
I've just fucked with your language without repentance
And then with you for it makes a sugery-euphonious sentence