Jake was a pussyhound in a city of *****.
"Hey man, can I ask for some advice"
--a common conversation-starter device;
I riddled his brain with disdain,
he armored up--
the ignorance card draining from his sleeve.
He once taught me a lesson greedily kept celestial.
Purely accidental--
lost in the beginnings of spring,
he strolled into my daydream,
sharpened his fingertips on my shoulder blades,
my heart struggled to beat under my mind's premonition--
"I ****** Susie, Sally, and Sam. Satan's summer in a bedroom--
needless to say, I was enthralled."

As the landscape of their bodies took shape
in my shuddering skull, the cancer took.
Details--details, more details, pretty please,
conquest, conquest, more, more,
gimme more.