Lost Lyric...

…I have to confess, my salacious
little Einstein, sometimes when your head’s
turned, I sneak a peek into your ear, hoping
to snag a glimpse of your medulla oblongata.
Let me fondle your hypothalamus until it gets
wet with thirst, skinny dip in your subconscious,
slow dance with the tornado ripping apart
your psyche, wiggle my tongue inside the hole
where the therapist poured the Krazy Glue
to put your mind back together…
…I’ll massage your gray matter
till it glows in the dark, perform brainilingus
till you have acid flashbacks. I won’t solve you
and leave you, or brag to the locker room scholars
about how juicy that vein in your forehead gets
when you multiply big numbers. I don’t want you
just for your quadratic equations. I’ll subtract
the square root of your bosom from the radius
of our embrace, and conjugate your clitoris
into every verb tense known to humankind.