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.
Inspired by the traumas of my younger self. May she rest peacefully.