My honeydude is no Half-Day Tony.
When I’ve reached my stresshold,
when I’m procaffeinating because
of some intense fuckery or other,
he brings me a baker’s shit ton of
flowers or little packets of sugar.
When I thank him, he says it’s all
in the homie fund. We go out
for a snakemeal every three days,
then I lose myself in lady snores
while he waits for me outside,
snapping his icicle fingers.
Prompt: NaPoWriMo (include 10 words/terms from a specialized dictionary. Guess which one I used?)