Can't get my **** hard,
I like her too much.

It's funny, the discrepancy.

I've ****** broads
that I don't give a **** about,
****** them hard and
never had this problem.

Love weaves it's intricate web
in my silver-gilded psyche.

It doesn't even matter
if it's love that I'm after.
It's here, and it's taken me,
regardless of what I want.

So I'll be here
with my soft ****,
hoping that love
will reciprocate.

Limply limping
towards my ill-
chosen fate.

Maybe she'll **** herself.

Maybe I'll get her pregnant,
well...
not with this soft **** I won't.
I needn't be paranoid
about that, just yet.

Maybe we can just be...




happy?




Maybe we can tread the waters between
such poetic extremes,
a child,
a death.

So,
would you like to
just float with me?

We can drift amidst
these in-betweens.