Dear Avatar of the Cosmos,

I must admit that your harmonious systematic
est modus in rebus of abstractional analyticity
and unblemished beauty, that only the Gods
could have created, has made my therapist
a contented control freak. For I am insidiously
inflicted with the faceless fear of poetry
and of long words. But your inflexible enchantment
of mind, heart, and sight has coerced the improbable,
the inevitable, the Muhammad Ali attitude,
and the William Shakespeare within to emerge
ensorcelled and ready to scribe sensuality in verse,
just for you.

~~Pigeonhole Me~~
Like a complex Einstein theory,
you have manipulated musical
rapturous renditions
of befuddled bewitchment
upon my enraptured spirit.

I see Pleiades playfully dance
within your hurricane eyes
piercing platonic depths
of soul unrecognized.

Luscious lips intoxicate my mind
with brilliant breath of depth
that serenades thunderous
thought twisters—

and spreads sensual salutations
with your luminous smile.

The sway of your mesmerizing mind
slays beliefs inscrolled in stone,
like the Sun’s sizzling assassination
of the nocturnal sky.

You’re a shooting star that blazes
across my barren universe
satiating salvation in sweet torture.

Pigeonhole me, tie your hands
behind my back and cuff us
tenderly together.

Whisper and whimper
a sweet breeze
upon our loins of desire
and we’ll dream away
the daylight hours.

For you—

have become the infectious disease
I have always longed to invade my heart.

P.S. I also have Philophobia, the fear of falling in love,
so after we have sex please tell me what a horrid lover I am.

Sincerely,
Sigmund

very funny

thank you