You think *** is *****.
That's why the types of women you ****,
are the ones that you hate,
and why you can't make love,
or lick to taste.
That's why you want to spit at me,
with your scrunched up face.
That's why you don't say a thing,
after blowing your load.
No matter how hard I made you explode,
you pull apart and go straight for your phone.
The paper towels,
sports zones,
like sweaty men bumping helmets
are any cleaner.