well, that got your attention,
as if somehow eavesdropping
on flight-attendants was
all you could
devote to.
but that poem was centuries ago
when porn still masted over the sky
and it was facials everyday
all brazen and quick tongued
haiku.
in days when flamingos did the 69
and it was the most awkward beauty
since Snow White had that gangbang
in the forest of the night
and the apples were speaking in tongues!
and the blossoms of snow sniffed around
the wind like wet dogs on sand.
it was yesterday too,
wit as shiny as her oiled tits and
spotless asshole. you were like:
i could grate cheese on that ass!
pass the salt.
or have i run out of it?
if i was writing this a thousand years from now
the only groans would be of the continents
massaging the ocean, and the sun--
the only voyeur left
seeding solar flares into amazon-dot-cum.
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