hellsforheroes

Alphabet soup

I want the petals of my gladiolus
and my iris
on the trespasses of her
as a glissade.

Oh the flavine sky
in that of my floruit
with tap water
and faux brains as fluoride.

Glorious to bite on my liguloid
or limuloid, so good
what is good
your private lobelia.

To the air malmsey
and my belly
of the younger mantua
Marguerite Mariolatry in disguise.

To be me the sophist
or a bloody sot
her sweet spandrel aflame
like the lily of a squill.

Wheres your tam-oh-shanter
for we believe in theosophy
and trinitrotoluene as god
fire and tropaeolum to die.

Bless us passing Vesta
and me with no virago of Lilith
as life of a vivisection
or as I a vulpine.

And for so I must wend
to be a will-o-the-wisp
and a Winchester disk
or perish a Wyandotte.