obituaries printed,
eulogies read,
carry-off this transition
with a little more couth;
years have sprinted,
caught behind not ahead,
the unexpected position
of burying my youth;

skin was once silken,
such a fine smooth pelt,
stroked by all females
of largesse or frames teenie;
now an absence of lilt in
a face that did melt,
cojones: unrung bells
'neath a cold cocktail weenie.


Okay, another line and I'll fucking kill myself!
posted by:
Atomictoiletbrush
Los Angeles

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