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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