You were sap on my fingertips.
Amusing,
but tiresome.

I always did like sticky situations.
One must keep things interesting,
you know.

Our romance was
utterly cliché;
with the class
of the ****
you used to make.
Circa 1975.

Your capricious nature
was infectious.
And lucky for you,
the ****** had already
eradicated any morsel
of logic or reason
that should have been in attendance.

I was ripe for the picking.

With unfaltering,
unwavering decadence
you won
a child's heart,
but not without
stealing the body too.

Heartless ******* people everywhere.

Shoving young girls
flat on their taut tummkes
for better access
on beds, ***** mattresses and floors
everywhere.

I can still recall
the scent of your pillowcase
as your hand pressed,
hard,
my head to the center of the bed.

I'm sure you remember,
you know,
the way my ******-soaked body
flopped,
nearly lifeless,
as you took
and took
and took
what you saw to be yours.

I hope I haunt
some frequented
highway of your psyche.
Walking the wet roads,
thumb extended at my side.

You know me
by the switch of my hips,
the curve of my ***
and the smell
of naive innocence.

I feel you behind me;
I always feel you behind me.

"Need a ride, kitten?"

Glorious evil pulses through me.

You're a sucker.
You'd pick me up everytime.