He wakes up at her hips
And will reject her lips
Before she is long gone
Because with her he’s done
He paid the wretched queen
And to her he was keen
Fair enough! She is off
To some masculine doll
His lust her skimpy scroll
In the night of the void
Her body ovoid
Circle seized disposed off
To the fancy of those
Who once gave her a rose
Made of a dollar bill
She is of love, ill, ill
Wondering she may not
About her condition
She will insert the coin
Into a random slot
Her marked lone ****
Bearing alienation
Her own ammunition
Longing for salvation
No lover at auction!



December, 3, 2015
Lyon 2 University, France.