poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

by God, I don't know what to

do.

they're so nice to have around.

they have a way of playing with

the balls

and looking at the cock very

seriously

turning it

tweeking it

examining each part

as their long hair falls on

your belly.

it's not the fucking and sucking

alone that reaches into a man

and softens him, it's the extras,

it's all the extras.

now it's raining tonight

and there's nobody

they are elsewhere

examining things

in new bedrooms

in new moods

or maybe in old

bedrooms.

anyhow, it's raining tonight,

on hell of a dashing, pouring

rain....

very little to do.

I've read the newspaper

paid the gas bill

the electric co.

the phone bill.

it keeps raining.

they soften a man

and then let him swim

in his own juice.

I need an old-fashioned whore

at the door tonight

closing her green umbrella,

drops her green umbrella,

drops of moonlit rain on her

purse, saying "shit, man,

can't you get better music

than that on your radio?

and turn up the heat..."

it's always when a man's swollen

with love and everything

else

that keeps raining

splattering

flooding

rain

good for the trees and the

grass and the air...

good for things that

live alone.

I would give anything

for a female's hand on me

tonight.

they soften a man and

then leave him

listening to the rain.

Added: 14 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 5 Jul 2008 2:43 AM | Viewed: 5864 times

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