I let myself in with the cliche under your mat

[nonnymonster]

I let myself in with the cliche under your mat,
Bind my own wrists with a length of jokes explained,
Fly desire’s sad white leather flag from the window,
And never lose my pidginity.
No specialty store sells semantics as they catch sun rays crumpled on the floor.
Your subculture would be shocked at the number of veils required
To creole my body away.