I Don'T Like the Look of Those Scissors, Darling
But a brush and a touch, one parting more.
Delilah, Moon-girl, you stole my strong light.
I, your Sun-boy, am shorn having blackout,
but remember my close shaves, the honey
and dead days, my foes jaw-struck,
as the long-winded she-ass brays in my ear.
With influence silverish, drowning golden locks,
the egg-eating fish-god wins for a period
till dawn's yellow meets me at the next round.
I shake gold pillars in Dagon's stone temple
where uncut spectators are dying to taunt me
but what do I care for I know you await me,
At noon I burn for you,
at nightfall I sigh for you, O Delilah.
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