Dear Margaret Cho [we aren't differentiable with bangs and hooded lids.]

we aren't differentiable with bangs and hooded lids. I know the likeness doesn't stop right there. what's so great about being horny? the joke is insatiable. it rips and roars between and through. we both have found our mother's jewels. buried in closets, rolled in silk thread and bunting. done in scarlet, fortunately found, never for the men in sharing. these are our secrets. our punch lines and couplets. I went to bed thinking "pixies." the bliss and after- math of a spiritual kiss. how you resonate without rooms, maintaining perfect valences. where is the disaster at the end of this dread? in my dream state you were queen, a reigning bodhisattva without a sprig. I climbed inside your belly. punched inside you laughed and laughed, converting persimmons into a freedom jelly. Slathered all over, I found us exuberant, happy to swing or go both ways.