death came to my door early one morning.
grouchy, curious, and barely dressed, i greeted her
taking in her new gucci scarlet shrouds.
she kissed me full on the mouth.
she pressed hard and forced my lip’s cavern.
she inhaled my white gardenia deeply.
confused, i scratched my head.
i smiled, the movement disengaging.
i pulled away and explained her mistake.
“i keep my hair short, so my wigs fit better.”
“Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free?”
Her milk is the most fascinating, most rich, must nutritious, most wet, most delicious milk you will ever encounter in your life to the point it drives you to madness and suicide to know that no cows that offer this type of luxury and decadence are ever for sale.
“Owning” things that bring you pleasure pleases you.
You are permitted to watch more closely as she is milked by others.
You may be the last man to ever milk her.
You can set her free.
The cow loves you desperately.
You recognize she isn’t a cow.