Lone tiger on the couch Mulling ideas of a kill If she cannot eat the muscles Of a lovely he, She would ax the
High cheek bones Of her rival tiger-ine.
Bloody tiger-ine walks her buns All across the savannah. Deep in a tent lies A fuming unconsummated Wrinkled tangerine in heat.
Rest your desire to sleep My envious treacherous soul Tomorrow your sorrow will vanish
As a cinder lightly afloat.