Can we fuck and still be friends?
Won’t work if she smells
like buttered popcorn,
looks like a hot air balloon,
thighs thicker than a snicker
splitting those denim blue jeans,
Ass like a stuffed trash bag,
backing it up like a tractor
ready for harvest.
Won’t work if she a tall
glass of bourbon whiskey
enough to bust a
few nuts and
thirst a few hearts
smothering meat
with crusted, rosy buttcheeks
and begging on knees
like church Sunday
praying to Jesus for alimony.
Won’t work if she performs weekends
cash money splurged on
purses, booze, heels, jewels, cigarettes
all for spoiled, snotty, shitty
hooligans cruising around town
like taxicab drivers in search of
some ripe, fleshy, putrid, lesbian pussy.
Won’t work if we bitch, moan, whine
and split the spotlight to fly coach
sharing a Queen-sized bed
in a cheap hotel where hookers cost pennies,
thinking what’s in that bald watermelon
head of hers, pouncing on that prey
to make a move by
slithering under the sheets,
Kiss.
Lick.
Sneeze.
Won’t work if she looks like ash,
reeks of spoiled, rancid ass
and treats you
like trash–
Horror Sleaze Trash 