Oleander Breath with Turkey Tails

I want to be the baba in your ganoush

the guac in your mole

the spring in your roll

the egg in your plant,

the seed in your linseed,

the crack that lets the light in

the non in your sequitur

the bourbon in your aged barrel

and the cask in your amontillado

Further, I want to be all opportunistic in your organism,

or in your prairie grass

or the red foot in your snapping newt that neither is red nor snaps at your feet.

I want to take your breath away, without watching that piece of shit top gun movie where the actress looks so old now

I want to be all Tom Cruise with your Nicole Kidman, before they both got too fucking weird

I want to be the 2001 in your space odyssey,  the Hal in your singularity,  and the probe in your event horizon.

In short, I want to be the science in your Scientology, without all that fake religion, and if that doesn't work, I want to fantasize that when you would theoretically scream out L.Ron, L.Ron, L. Ron, you are really thinking about me,

for what Confucius says, is really about me and you, and you and me, in one giant gooey Tao Te Ching, that smells like Oleander, and tastes like Paw Paws, that was eaten long ago, in another life time, by us both