Sunday, 14 February 2010

Indonesian hookers hang out in Saritem’s alleys

Not cleaning the tulip staircase
Scratching my leg

Letting my toenails curl
With disappointed Catholic sperm

Bereft of passion
No copulation in sight

The end of my tether
Is soaked in Dubonnet

Not near wet shaved legs
Or just worn panties

They’re reserved for the clean
Lungs and red tongues

The multilingual

They don’t pick up
Dog turd or stroll
Canal St Martin

They banquet in large dining
Rooms with chandeliers

They slip through any
Sized crack

And tire of lick outs
And spooning

They don’t hide internet
Prescriptions in matchboxes
Or write poetry.

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