We toss and turn
as our innards yearn
for those quicksilver
flashes of life.
Without them we'd burn
from bow 'til our stearn
for those so-tender
sources of strife.
Yet we are muddled
by those that we've cuddled
spun round and a-
round like a top.
Our minds they all fuddle
with hints far to subtle
'til at last from
anger they pop.
Yet still...
We toss and turn
as our innards yearn
for those quicksilver
flashes of life.
Without them we'd burn
from bow 'til our stearn
for those so-tender
sources of strife.
