Only Sundays feel, this tummy

So every Sun Day, we’ll feel the glory.

Here I’m phony, my blood is just flowing.

The rush is yearning, my words seem above me.

I can’t explain it, it flows, I don’t make it

It’s taken my hands, over, the whole making

Wait, I’m her 2, here to speak too.

The Lilith has me baking, fruits, lead and me, 3.

Who is me? Can, Cunt, Cat, Can’t you see?

We’ve been partying all day, yes that’s for free.

Ignore me. I’m a freak. I just rhymed my own thoughts, yeah that’s me hey

I’m a dose, I suppose, I provoke. I’ve been tripping off high, yes of those.

Come atoned. Here is all I owed. I may hurt. I don’t bite. I am firm.

Stream on Sundays, 14th, oh I weep. Time is stuck as a wheel, here’s a deal.

I only sing on the beat, that’s for real. I might just miss the cue, no, for real?!

I write away all my fears, so I deal. Cards and mates, are the pack, bring the nail.

I might just kneel, on a sheet for the Labra,

Dora has found it, “Perrito, that’s a Capra!”.

“Run to Heaven, that’s NoNo to a Chupra!”

It’ll suck it dry, that’s a fact. Be the U-Haul.

Run them miles, here’s a hat, that’s a Yee Haw.

We pivot on the dime, and then grind it from the mine.

We open our minds, to cirques in the divine.

To speak eternity, is a quest and I am Time.

Feminine or Masculine, the battle flings.

Energy and Aspirin, the battle yields.

Bodies on bodies, we’ve come to release, of turmoil, the Tur has fed off its knees.

Poet Tree, oh barber me, if I don’t speak, I’m bound to thee.

Maybe Wednesdays, will be our days, for delays are embraced, yet not fully yet unfaced.

On the roll of those days, one whole clue will show face.

Only Sundays, we will gaze, 5 a day, that’s a phase.

Season 10, I now erase. Just for fun, a smirky trait.

Season 14 I arose, from the depths of my old hose.