Lies
This poem is about the prowess of our sexual organs.
We know just how to slap them together.
It’s a gorgeous rhythmic sound.
Our orgasms are regular and simultaneous.
We are never ambivalent,
least of all our loins.
They’re furnaces down there.
I could get it up right now!
Sure, I don’t mind a condom but
I was tested last week.
I’d love to hear your confession
but i must confess something first—
someone is calling on the other line.
Also, I am out of town.
Horror Sleaze Trash 