Graft me some new skin – skin that crawls with deliberate intent across the killing floors of utile abattoirs where brass eyed hookers draw licentious remarks from serviceable villains with sharp threads and sharper faces – the kind you cut your knuckles on.
I want to float on liquid gardens in the realms of someone’s paradise and wet my feet on grassy morning dew while angels sing Hare Krishna with voices that tinkle like little silver bells in the here and here after.
Give me clouds of cotton candy to hang my wardrobe in. I want rolling waves to rock my boat, but not too hard – there are places I would go yet and I’m much to fat to swim. Bring me a golden pallet loaded with everything, but most of all bring me someone I can grow young with – someone who fits in with my new skin.