No, I will not fondle you willingly centurial world
nor stroke your shred of decency, I hold no candles
or so you broadcast, ever since you kissed
my world weary decadence.
Hey soldier, go flaunt your swags and jabots elsewhere
this girl is bowing out, full to the glands with garlands
and Democrats, the truthful and bad will eventually see my way.
My webbing or weaving grows thick with all your travel plans
you tree trunk, you bile monger, you ghastly gew gaw
bereft of Metaphor, this time your ignorance will kill you
once and for all Centurion.
Didn’t you notice your hundred years are up.