Mission Men

New moon rising. The comforter covers the sacred summer beneath. The beating Chinese fans call me from the wall. Stay this way or you will pay, black and red. Blood in ceremony, not in gift. Thrift is obscene and unclean minority mean. I slip into my purple kimono. Heriheto delivered this when I was three. Do not touch me if it is on my body. I need to paint the word pain as I feel it into a character for real. Watching is sexy, but learing takes you to the cages of baboons. Longing for the love of me is nothing if your scene is unclean. Be educated to not go where my eyes can see and death will fallow to the whole colony. Strong can hold me for a night, but then I take flight. My king is in the other room crying. He is my master, but he must master you and all like you through me. No sympathy to his gaze. He is genocide on me every day. There, the paint was black, and my tender intentions turned it violet. I slip off my robe, climb on top and arch as I receive you like the tides of the seas.