i love watching people who are still waiting for "something"... they had it all and are still waiting for "something", that extra-special "other-thing", a kinderüberraschung. moi? moi, patienter, pour, un, bus; le autobus... desires always bred the most inept forms of instinct... comedy rules, even the ******* jokes raised the harlequin to peddle giggles on a unicycle.*

i’ve lived through a woman,
beyond whim or chance,
  i've learned that:
a woman is incapacitated
with a chance of compliment -
woman is unable to
circumstance the chance
of charm,
woman is unable to pay
compliments...
                 women never have,
and never did
prize paying attention
on compliments:
too busy with their artefacts
of pleasurable "joys"
of putting of make-up and
donning stockings -
sucker-punching kings...
toward the erotica of dreams....
next time i trust a woman
she'll either be a granny aged
80, or... dead.
      a man makes
his mind the labyrinth that
stretches into old age un-differential -
      a woman makes her
youth a labyrinth -
         ****-able up to the age
of 60...
                  counters the old
cork and the young colt by the same
measure...
            can't be bothered,
the explanation
is,                                self-explanatory;
youth then says to old age:
die ****-sodden in underwear
you scythe rubbing pervert!
       how glorifying,
the humbling of the feminine beauty...
       and how much more so,
by nature's decree:
the glorification of the "ugly" man,
suddenly turning into
an appealing creature worth
            the stature of acceptability.