The Great Vulnerability Sphere
Don’t pull me into your vulnerability sphere: its ultra and violet and burnies for my cornea.
You’ve got eyes of effervescent caryatid protection. I love that big sphere, but I hate its spherical nature. It’s big and red and vulnerable: so vulvic. The curtains are orange. They’re waving in the breeze. The breeze from your giant vibrator.
Why is your turtle looking at me? Why are my hands massaging your globule? I’m tonally vulnerable, more toned than a thousand Tony’s.
I hate the sphere. It’s pulling me in, don’t pull me in. The sky is wet, its hate is palpable, like a heartfelt fart.
Crash!
There it goes and shatters on the floor. Oh, you’re a sniffer dog. Cling to charity, make me spherical like you. Round me in your own image. Use me to plug a leak somewhere.