Writing Poetry in Your Pussy  

rm_leroyboyx 56M
8 posts
3/6/2005 3:33 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Writing Poetry in Your Pussy

I'm gonna write poetry in your pussy.
Free verse--of course.
How could I charge?
Maybe I'll throw in a little rhyme to
give it a predictable rhythm
just so I can throw it off.
It's best when you're confused
or at least unsure.
Have you ever heard a song for the first time
and you can guess the words coming next?
Not this one.
I'm writing this one--
not you.
I'm writing this one for you.
You know that means I've already chosen
the way I plan to break you down.
Reverse engineer your words to fit my purpose.
Rewrite your resume,
if only for today.

I won't use ink.
I won't use my keyboard.
All my life I did the things they told me
would put led in my pencil.
Now I can write with the damned thing.
It might be rounded,
but it's never dull.
Speaking of rounded--

(your ass.)

Yes, your ass.
Fort Booty-- the Bronx.
There I said it.
Saying it is just the big inning.
I learned to read upside down
by writing doggy style.
Left to right/right to left
speed reading
scream of consciousness
dada
crazy mama

I feel like I ode it to you
to write somthing long
something hard to pull off
much less pull out.
So unless you're in some
phat fucking hurry
I plan to ease into this.
I refuse to invest myself
completely
until I know
you have a place of safekeeping.
A soft landing zone.
The marsh is mellow now.
Tsunami's coming.
Head for the hgh ground baby.

I see you like to collaborate.
Well, collaborate on these.
That's right.
You've got the picture.
Not so pretty
but sure feels good.
That's mission control--
the boys in the back room
the party behind the party
hollering and whooping it up.
The guests of honor.
The true stars of the show.
The little guys, who deserve so much more
attention
than they get.
Not to mention
the publicity.
If I were advertising,
I'd want balls selling my product.
Not a dick.
Balls are everybody's cousins.
Relatively speaking.

Spread your legs further for me.
Fold your thoughts like a sleeping bag
and let's fall into them.

Oh, yes, my OS
is comfortable with muti-tasking
so I will have to fuck you while I'm writing.
And yes, you'll cum, but
in the spaces surrounding those times
you're getting fucked.
Fukn A, B, C's
from the PhD.
Graduate level composition
Advanced theory.
no editing allowed.
Realtime.
My time.
Overlapping your time.
Our time
instead of the world's.
Mean time. Greenwich time.
Anytime.
Just anytime.

I could go any day.
Or I might not.
But when my life flashes before my eyes
I hope I see you
somewhere in my reruns
and hopefully
the un-abridged, uncensored version.
The easiest kind to digest for this reader.

This could go on and on.
Isn't that the point?



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