His name came up like a match on wooden me (poetry)

his attempt to flatter me and his failure to do just that	flowered and returned to the Mississippi mud	I remember when it was me who made her skin flush	Even as he watched the sea rise up like anger
The mad scientist ties you to the examination table and makes love to you with his chilly instruments.	If a girl offers you her cheek, kiss her neck	Of course I refused, afraid of what his hands might feel like	It’s in his name and his clothes and his hands and his lips
The ocean will one day give up its dead	Tom Traubert's Blues	The Altruists on Mulberry Street	For Every Day, I Wake Up.
sometimes it feels like the world is trying to tell me to wake up	wooden