stranger was the color of our true love's hair

how do you govern a third world soul?
by getting drunk, we replied
by blindfolding the beauty of all i was

who started it, you did? or was it i?
it was someone who feels like a pitiful kiss
the leftover for the day
it was a piece of us who turns against me

winning by deluding

the fool's triumph
the joy of being so corrupt and unpolitically correct
something you drew out of some icy lips
came as warm as supper in windy nights
perversely indulged in condemns
swayed out of our shawls for this glorious self

sometimes u act like a fool
just to make your words get its way correctly.
sometimes i act as nothing
as nothing would govern this:
some drunken third world drought

a fool's triumph,
a smile
we shall not apologize