i think i'll fuck my
ticking clock you're busy
elsewhere elsewhere
you'll be fucking music.
i'll swell and swell to your
square fingers, your face bent
into my pillow
snoring
into my pillow.
it's not working. the way
two things so foreign - cat to
oil, table to mattress -
never
work.
i'll sleep badly
tonight.
frustrated.
you think i'm restless, well,
i could teach a stadium of
young and hungry boys so much
about the need to fuck
something, when fucking spills
from my deep deep
belly
out through my poor
wet eyes.
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