Borderline Love Lyric 9

I say,
Anastasia of the Rentiers,
clapometer of your nurture
was metronome petitbourgeois.
Shapechiffoniser, I'd shoplift your tits,
but I'd never work a pricewaterhouse
coup purse to finagle your proxy
fondness w/ jewelpriced houses, housepriced jewels.

None of my dreams have Tudor beams.

Phwoar!
Real Housewife of Wundagore,
strikingly featureless siren,
zhengrong fenghuang
from Ol' Doc Moreau's
clinic for tired tiger moms.
All these women who come & go,
mimicking Michael Jackson's woes.

None of my dreams have de novo genes.

Y'all seem
committed Christian Wojak Morlock
sarcoline critter machines,
but it doesn't take a jesterantlered
QAnon Shaman eating suovetaurila
pizza to see Ol' Doc Dysinformoreau's
paradiso fiscale'll blackball y'all's
Undiscovered Mysteries barnets.

None of my dreams have Pepe memes.

Nana nana nana nana nana nana nana nana,
Camgirl! Jejune pricktease jills off w/
Babestation tremors on FTSE screens of
sleaze in my smegma grindset camcave.
Deciduous business being an ecdysiast.
Terry Nutkins is dreaming of a drey minge,
yet gone are the gorilla salad days
of local swimming pearls.

None of my dreams have silicone spleens.

Tho' none of their dreams
or Nazi Stargate Vajayjays redeem 
a Rudolph Valenscreamo.
Life in tatters l/ a vodka marge-
rhino in a chinoshop,
another liar unto the lino
w/ lifehacker's block. 
Tho' tbf I might as well be Johnny Deppelganger if
 
none of our dreams have common themes.

You'd think there'd be some common ground
w/ all these Ghislaine Mammals,
both of us lying l/ needier mingers, 
tho' they lay, transparently, for the dinero, 
lie w/ the translucent billions of Lucifer-
untranscending dineroaires, 
media ninja Savilian stallions 
w/ stalbino Elon Vurt tans. And I lie that

none of my dreams are gleaned from screens

of touchscreenthin Instanastacias,
headrentiers as constant as crypto,
who filter me l/ thinspo.
I lie that they could be no 
trobairitz, authors ritzy of love
& that all my dreams are of
bauch & dedebased blushing brides
as frigid as trans-Neptunian sexobjects.

All of my nightmares are wet ones.