Chocolate

Drunk

Look. We supposed
we could not be,
right.

We took stock and made impressions,
like two kids playing with
mud.

We shaped and re-shaped and then we
supposed again. Did you not
sit up and postulate,
as your fantastic

Tits hung before my hungry
eyes. Of course I listened
dutifully.

But still, your purplish nipples
plump, hung like ripe
grapes.

I would have munched them
as lunch, but we had
not yet finished the
champagne.

I could hate you incessantly,
with your cocked head
and glassy, stoned
presuppositions.

But your sickness is upon
me and we stuck to it
and well, fuck,
Love is ….

chocolate.

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About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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