by Precious JonesShe says
your poetry sucks
but I'd still love
to fuck you.if you don't mind
well I appreciate your honesty,
no I don't mind,
and how do you wanna do this?
She says
use laymen's terms,
no big words,
no intellectual bullshit,
nobody uses "nosegay" in a poem-
I can fuck you right here
on the living room floor
if you like
sounds like a plan, but
even laymen wanted to be
more than laymen, right?
She whispers in my ear:
let me be your layman tonight,
strips off jeans and boxers,
strokes her small cock
eternally hard and neon-pink
write like I fuck she brags:
raw
straight-up
(I, on the other hand, write like a piss you've been holding for two hours: urgent & vicious)
I say, I'm a little more versatile;
if my butch wants me
to fuck her for once,
I will,
and if she wants to
role play,
me standing on any corner
in any hood,
five inch black leather heels,
matching dress with a hemline
right below my ass,
while she shamelessly
solicits sex as I whisper
daddy this and daddy that
in her ear/then raise my fee
from two bills to three
then I will.
Lube in a tube
magically appears
and somehow
I end up naked
except for a pair of stilettos
that place me eye to eye
with my beau
who says
I hope your lips know how to do more than just talk.
