Her name is Magda and this is her story.

Cast your mind to another time, another place...

The year is 1939 and the place is Germany. The night is cold, the wind howls and upon the strike of midnight there is a thunderous hammering upon the door where little Magda lives. It is the Gestapo, ******’s secret police, they arrest Magda’s father and send him to clear minefields for the German army. Her father has not committed any crime. He is a law abiding citizen who works hard and is a respected member of society. He is arrested because he happens to be Jewish.

Less than a year after the arrest Magda’s mother receives a letter which says her husband has been killed.

Then, on another wild and frightful night there is thunder once more upon the door. This time the soldiers arrive and take Magda, her mother and Magda’s brother George, who is only four-years old.

They are driven to the railway station and packed into a cattle truck with many other people. The floor of the tight compartment is slippery with cow dung, the walls greasy with grime and dirt, and the air hangs heavy with the stale sweat of fear. The prisoners pray silently.

Magda can feel the heat rising as time passes and her mouth and lips become dry. The air is becoming humid, people are gasping, some have fainted, others are weeping. Magda has no idea how long she has been trapped in this claustrophobic dungeon. Her throat burns but there is no water and no food, just slow and painful suffocation. The journey seems to be without end.

Finally, when she thinks she is about to faint, the train screeches to a halt. There are screams and shouts as the prisoners are pushed and shoved out of the carriages and marched towards the barbed-wire gates of the death camp that looms out of the morning fog. Soldiers stand at the sides pointing rifles at the new prisoners. Magda jumps back from when she sees a huge dog snap at her. The spittle from the dog’s foaming mouth flicks across her wrist and she shivers. She notices the sharp teeth and the raging eyes of the dog. The soldier tugs on the dog’s leash and laughs.

There are men in black leather uniforms who are separating the prisoners into two lines, one for men and one for women. Magda’s little brother George is torn from his mother’s arms and thrown into the line where the male prisoners are waiting. Her mother tries to fight her way through the soldiers but she is thrown back and falls into the mud. When she gets up she sees the line of men close around little George and he vanishes. This will be the last time Magda and her mother will ever see little George.

The seasons change, the world turns and time passes. The year is now 1944 and the prison is a place of hunger, thirst, disease and death. There is nothing but fear and sadness as family after family is killed for no other reason except that they are Jews.

Once more, on a stormy night, there is a scream in the night and Magda wakes up. She reaches over and touches her starving and skeletal mother, she searches for her mother’s warmth and her protection, but on this night when her fingers clutch her mother she finds only the cold. Her mother has passed away during the night.

The next day the Allied Forces arrive and liberate the death camp. Magda is free at last. Her frail body is thin but she has survived. She knows that her mother only lived as long as she did so that Magda would survive.

There is an ambulance waiting and Magda is driven to a hospital and from there she is given the very last seat on a plane bound for Great Britain. She arrives in Birmingham and is welcomed with open arms. The people are friendly, warm, kind and smile when they speak. Magda cannot speak English but in time she learns to read and write and soon she is living with a foster family who treat her with love.

Magda knows that in Germany she was not allowed to go out and play. Her mother could only go to one shop for a few minutes under armed guard. The family had no freedom and no protection. Things in England are different. She can go to school, visit shops and parks, spend time with friends and go to her place of worship without any fear.

Every week she goes to Steelhouse Lane Police station and gets her documents stamped. She can only stay in England if she is a student otherwise she will be deported to Germany.  Thus, Magda studies hard and hopes to go to college. She is still sad inside because she knows when her education ends she will have to return to Germany. Sergeant Roberts, from Steelhouse Lane Police station, smiles warmly and advises her, “Magda, if anyone ever asks you what it is that you’re studying, tell them you’re studying to be a grandmother.”

Once more time spins and this time eighty years have passed and the year is 2011 and the place is Birmingham Town Hall. An elegant lady walks onto the stage, the light bounces on her curly hair creating a silvery halo around her glowing face and the audience wait eagerly to hear her speak. She is calm, peaceful and her voice is clear despite her age. She carries no darkness or hate or vengeance, only love. She looks at the audience and smiles gently and says, “My name is Magda and this is my story...”



©Rangzeb Hussain

daj, do wynagrodzenia: reszty.
daj: to niby: siebie;
a... dam... dam...
ale pierw: powiem:             to!
(ich) nicht werden
                  geben (ihr) das nacht!
first... i'll punch myself
hard enough to give myself
a plum-eye: ******* pacifists...
and then?
    then i'll strap a trouser belt
to protect my knuckles...
and then... then...
                    then: we'll "talk":
who might find a translator
ready...
   god...
i'm gagging for a
knuckle exchange...
        almost... itching!
like i might await
a shaving... from a Turkish
barber... in Essex...
of all Danish palaces;
and why would i want to allow
consort with these women?
considering the fact that
the russian ones believe in trans-national
grievance taxation:
of someone... who hasn't...
actually died...
              you know what?
*******...
suffer...
       watch me wipe my ***
with a satanic smile
ennobled
by a coulrophobia...
excesses of vogue
                      atypical models...
how is it... that...
coulrophobia doesn't translate
in reverse?
  and what's up
with the black privilege of
jass music, akin to white mozart...
as...  
  sure as ****, the drum would be
the first, and only thing,
prior to the people learning
the ******* clarinet!

oh drop me your ****** ***
holocaust dead bomb
on a polish ***...
     i triple, quadruple dare you!
you *******... ivory coast
   centipede!
               i'm *******...
as watts: wild-eyed...
       unstrap me from this
"unreality" of conversation...
then undo the internet banking...
and the rest of it...

             not adam watts!
    glitter & doom....
who?      tom waits...
oh **** me... blue valentine?
if that's not a **** with me
album... what is?
                 live circus?
        
do i look like a ******* ****-
(see the hyphen?
it's a prefix... the english are
lazy sometimes: couldn't,
i.e. could not,
remnants of shakespearean
english...

       i'll always cite macbeth...

  time, thou anticipat'st my dread
exploits: the flighty purpose never
is o'eertook, unless the deed go with it.
from this moment, the very firstlings
of my heart shall be
  the very firstlings of my heart.
   and even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, be it thought and done.

it's hardly a racial slur, ergo...
why so ******* sensitive akin to a french
footballer or a ballerina?
   ****- (hyphen! hyphen!) ergo a prefix...
as already mention:
no, no...
   it's not: no iraqi ever called me a pa-ki
      (pákí)... yeah...
and you never called an afghanistani an
afghan, ever, no?
   pure camaraderie in that part of
the world... all the way... yeah yeah... yeah...
-stani (suffix) is sometimes missing
because... the english like to shorten words...
e.g. why is daniel: dan,
why is matthew: matt?
  why is muhammad: mo (farrah)?
                                    ******* pansies...
police your circumcised penises fiddling
english teenager girl, first,
come after my vocab. justifications: after;
savvy?

or a gypsy?
   by now...
     i'm looking like any
traveler...
and the world...
       forever resembled
a world,
  in the confines of
      a claustrophobia...

but... if there's a bigger concern for
a world...
  and a freedom...
i want a bare knuckle fight...
a black eye...
namely...
you bring  BOXING GLOVE...
and i'll bring...
     a LEATHER BELT...
wrapped around my knuckles,
and the wrist...
    like i might care to give
a second attempt to smile...

ah... the men... who care
about minding, if not in the least,
keeping women...
      bye bye, bye bye...
       and i've allowed myself
to know my grandfather...
as i did the slap in the face...
and...
the key question:
in the unfathomability of counting
the 32 / 4 ratio...
alas... one fist... one smile...

and countless... dentistry encounters...
because?
   because the rest?
the cultural artifacts of a today?
  lost to h'americana...
            as i might have wished...
for my prior genes
to make an autobiography
in **** germany...
  
   what?
  
      well... obviously: the oops.

no, for the crescendo...
you know...
           i'm getting this funny vibe...
gott ist tot... it's not really spectacular...
nietzsche really believed in eternity,
to the point where he pointed:
what does science offer, only old age...
what does religion provide? eternity...
oh nietzsche was big on eternity...
   gott ist tot is as unspectular as:
is it: how to do you pronounce x,
or is it: how do you pronunciate y?
debate:
              everyone says around here
the former... since no one wants to be a *****...
pro-nun-ci-ate (pro-nun-cíate)...
   might as well replenish the vocab. bank
and replace the word with:
how do you elocute z? / recite)....

gott ist tot / gott ist tod...
    "same ****, different cover"...
you know why i believe in god?
    not the christian reference points...
salvation blah blah, saviour and hide & seek blah blah...
n'ah... where would i derive all my vocab.
hunger if not from him?
   some men derive their vocab. from
women or gambling...
            i am not in the position of their
luxury... so god it is...

            primarily though?
               god is metaphysics...
             ergo? his judgement is not clouded
by metaphysical questioning...
it's impossible to receive a metaphysical
answer from a metaphysical question
when engaging with a metaphysical
ontological paraphrase of one's own search
for meaning in this mortal frame...

oh sure sure, my belief in god is as juvenille
as anyone else's belief in humanity's
clarity when it comes to jurisprudence
and its application...
    i've experience "jurisprudence" once...
drive-by phone theft...
me and three fwends...
   i catch the number plate...
i tell one of my fwends to note it down,
police station, report, culprit found,
a sit in at a barkingside police station
looking at mug images,
spot the ****** (it was dark when the mugging
took place, photographic memory, **** happens)...
a court session, australia is playing england
at the ashes (****, i missed it)...
in court the defence lawyer shows me
another picture of the culprit...
back then photogrpahs had dates
attached to them...
the photograph? over 4 years old...
i tell him: but this photograph is 4 years old!
how can i identify if this is the same
person: i, myself, will probably
don a beard in four years time!
      a simple slip-up...
        now that i have a beard:
it's so much more fun than growing your
hair long... i hated the nickname
chewbacca back in high school when i was
growing mine for a french braid...
i walk out of the court,
come to terms with the detective...
and i see the same hunger in him as i see in me...
will justice be served?
highly unlikely... since the victim
didn't recognize the *** in the mug-shots...
justice was probably not served...

   and this is how god plays into all of this,
hell or heaven, blah blah...
man created the figure of domina Iustitia
as blind... god created death to be blind...
justice was never supposed to be blind,
death was: the unfortunate deaths
of teenagers in car accidents,
among all the other freak accidents...

clouded with so many metaphysical questions
i don't appreciate man's ability to adhere
to jurisprudence without being
subjectively contaminated...
i have more belief in an "imaginary"
god than belief that strains me to belief
in man's sense of justice...
          the nuremberg trials are a rare exception...
but only when the culprits are
unabashed and fathomable by a collective
sense of pride... a blidness...
i believe in god, because i'd love to experience
the judgement of a post scriptum of
metaphysics...
  personally? i have been wronged...
heavily...
            i will not name names....
i know when and how i was wronged,
and by whom...
                2007... Canterbury...
      i won't name names: i'm not a rat...
man is too clouded with metaphysical questions
to begin with, god isn't,
he's a metaphysical ontology "bias"...
which is why, he is primarily a jurisprudent
answer...
   i'd love to experience divine jurisprudence,
hell or heaven are not of my concern...
and i don't imply divine jurisprudence
associated with the polytheistic take of
jurisprudence via a solipsistic mechanism
of a minor god and the person in question
without the hurt party...
in monotheism the god is solipsism personified...
these days: also the personna non grata...
so no... gott ist nicht tot...
            he's a personna non grata...
i just don't appreciate the human *******
of law, law governance...
   come on, in england you can receive
an a.s.b.o.s. for your cockerel being too loud
in the morning, your dog barking...
           would you trust man with
jurisprudence?
  a woman was cleared of the ******
of her husband
       when she hammered his head into a pancake:
over an abusive relationship...
police, weren't, "there"?!
sure sure... the hammer will do...
i believe in god without a sense of reward...
i just don't think man is capable of
passing justifiable laws...
no man could ever pass the eternal laws,
gravity... 100°C for the boiling of water...
i need a being  who has groundwork
in eternal laws, in unshakeable laws...
the ten commandments aren't:
you shall not...
   more... maybe, you shouldn't...
they are the most pristine jurisprudent
laws available... the: maybe you shouldn't,
eh, chappy?

       i just don't like playing the thesaurus game
on the more tight-knit game
of "passing" the wink-wink of Solomon's
judgement...
please, **** me please,
i'll eat 20 raw herrings in a cream sauce,
slurp 30 oysters,
eat 40 strawberries on a hangpverl
eat out about 50 harem virgins
like a castrato if you ask me, nicely,
**** camel cockey:
lucly i landed on a black gold slurp
with plenty of bangladeshi slaves:
******* of riyadh...
     what did muhammed tell you?
you camel jockeys / sand *******
have clearly forgotten...
******* arabs: short attention span...
you need to remind
the retards...
the dajjal would come from the east...
a palace of gardens...
well obviously the prophet wasn't
thinking about genghis khan...
            
  hmm barbarians...
vikings, arabs: yet so inclined to like poetics...
funny, that...
the civilized peoples banished
the poets...
            the ruling class and their cushioned
people: sacrosanct sycophants...
wankers, basically.

    the hajr? muhammad spoke of the dajjal
coming from the east,
and the east being a city of gardens...
where isn't riyadh and where is mecca?
isn't riyadh east of mecca?
was the dajjal to come from the outside
of islam, or from wtihin?
      last time i checked...
sh'ite islam isn't friendly to sunni islam...
if islam was the one true religion...
would have a shcism have occurred?
i don't think so...
   a persian would never bow before
an arab... that much os true...

oh i believe in god...
given how man practices jurisprudence...
is it some sort of, a, thesaurus game
i wasn't told about?
to me the human quest for jusctice is
a thesaurus game...
man is incapable to pass but one,
eternal, law...
he's great at nuanced laws...
laws allocated to sports...
i mean, **** me, cricket?
the best vocab. you'll ever pick up...

even god isn't as pertinent
in making the sort of music associated
with the limited alpha-to-beta
of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G...
wow! seven... seven?!
how many heads does the beast
of revelation have? oh... 7!

i'll stop tolerating islam, and start respecting it,
when it, acknowledges its presence
as a character study in the book of revelations...
then i'll just move on,
having made my point...

until that time comes...
    it's 600 years shy of becoming what
degenerate christianity has become,
oh and it's ripe...
it's gagging to implode!
600 years and wait for it to become
the next secular vasal conglomorate...

the warning muhammad gave
about "the best from the east"
was in point of question:
   a reference ti gneghis khan...
more like ibn saud:
  thst fat diabetic one eyed ogre...
and the legacy of decadence he left
behind...

saudi men with slavuc girlfriends,
buying up pink cushions and *******
chihuahuas...
**** after ****...
  you know the three slavic proverbs?
1. better a sparrow in your
hand, than a dove on your rooftop?
explanation?
better the small joys at-hand,
than impossible possibilities out of reach....
2. a drunk can spot east,
past mecca, whenever honing
the safety of his own bed... even at night...
not much of a proverb...
3. i don't care to rememeber...

once toleration comes into play,
i will, respect... just a waiting game...
i'm pretty sure no iranian will
bow down to a sunni camel jockey...
i like proud *******,
it implies: there are absolutes,
un-moveable goal posts...

                      if you are ever to bind yourself
in supporting a "side" outside a sports' dynamic,
always the outsider...
always the outsider... in this case?
the ****'ite islam brigade...
       the persians...
the sunnis can shove it...
   *****, bones, whatever....

                   ****'ite islam i can
fathom, even respect,
sunni islam i just tolerate...
  as much as iran takes claims for the
big satan in ref. to h'america...
well... if h'america supports the infantile
saudi arabia, who's to blame them?

you know that polonaise joke about
about the pacifism of jews in
2nd world world war poland?
the joke ran along the words:
weren't the jews shooting the nazis
using crooked elbows (rifles)?
they always seemed to miss them,
taunted into walking into gas chambers,
the ******* hobbits...

          what? some bolshevik Brooklynian
jewish rada is to spare me
                 the pay-up diffrential
telling me, i was wrong?

  as i said before: the nazis lamented
when the warsaw uprising happened...
no, st. paul's doesn't stand proud
because, because...
   even with the blitz...
                 the luftwaffe were told:
you drop a bomb on st. paul's: firing squad...
and when notre-dame de paris -
last time i checked...
   the nazis didn't luftwaffe the **** out
of paris... did they?!

                  the nazis weren't mongols;
no people so well versed in chanel in terms
of their military being so well
   suited & booted could ever make such a
                              architectural sacrilege...

what?! people under the silicon curtain
are gagging, begging even: for nazis!
can i be the first?!
i just want to please the hungry!
if not punk then moving swiftly into ska...
am i the first?
   siliziumvorhang...
well, **** me... from under the eisenvorhang...
what's with these neo-communist pseudos?

and the hebrew god?
a jealous god... so a god with the knowledge
of the existence of other gods...
why wouldn't a jealous god have
no knowledge of other ("imagianry") gods?
to be jealous of only one's own existence?!

3 / 1: that's the ratio....
that's the only ratio... 3 times i experienced
love at first sight:

when i fell in love at first sight...
malina, samantha, janina,
priya....

equal measure: isabella of grenoble...

in reverse:
magda, promis, ilona, kot (i forget her name,
7 years old, first kiss, you can be forgiven
to forget, she had two twin sisters
and she was the senior,
her fasther drove a distribution truck,
milk, i think)...

****, i actually mismanaged
that ratio...

i believe in "a" god...
since i find too much of human jurisprudence
to be riddle with the thesaurus...
i don't think man can pass
law, he can "suppose so"...
but he will never pass the sort of law,
made forbidden,
or absolutely allowed....
i don't believe in a god akin
to the sort of a pontous pilate god
where i'll always find myself
outside of punk evolving into ska...

         mind you...
i'd hate to be trapped within
the confines of an atheistic exclusion zone
of intellect,
      to be trapped in nothing is one
thing, but to be trapped inside
the confines of an atheist's "nothing"
is quiet another....
i don't like being a hamster inside
a cognitive wheel of another...
   god is the jurisprudence spirit,
man the metaphysical spirit...
and i would very much like to stand
in the light of divine law being passed
to finally feel my shadow...

kult: brooklyńska rada żydów...
  not familiar?
  i forgot punk a long time ago...
esp. when californians came up with their
version, ergo? ska...

i'm currently taping a film
about the silesian vampire...
how strange, that the prussians came
back into the ***** of the polonaise...

growing a beard is so much fun!
fiddle after fiddle: and no violin!
atheists bore me
as much as the theistic hags
who's only ambition are
the thrill associated with Sunday
h'america and cinema...
               i can imagine only one
heaven...
where i am blind and given
               a large library of music.

I dont want life any longer
I'm tired of all the lies
Its in Dreams where I find you
I hope I nwont be awakened this time
No not as much as anyone tries
In dreams I still hold you
Your skin soft as a babys
Your skin is smooth as silk
I just cant go on this way
By being awakened day after day
Leave me alone Im not going to **** myself
Not as long as I have my dreams
Dreams where I can love you
Where I know just what to do
They are where you are mine
Every bit of the time
See my Magda I just dream of you
These dreams are all I save
Just leave me alone before this matter becomes grave
Leave me alone in this one place where Im not times slave
Where I can feel you again and hear your voice my sweet babe
Its happening again someone is trying to wake me up
I said this would happen then
If you could just for me
Be happy I'll be out of misery
I'll be there where all one does is dream
Finally to be in Tanelorn
The one place I can find peace
Even if the directions cant be released
I wish I was in another world
Or on a different plain
Or living my next life my love
So i'd see you again
For now Im lost forever
You see I only dream at night
I cant take this life anymore
I guess
Its time to say goodnight
        Goodnight

and you shall be content with stirring up the sentimentalities of the old,
rather than be content in capturing the imagination of the young.*

i only write in my mother tongue when i feel too much
oppression, when it’s not worth being reminiscent
of the years 1772 through to 1939, only then do i use it,
and using it weep. i know of the post-colonial stress disorder in
western societies, it’s effective use in psychiatry
of these societies to curb any ambition of historical reminiscene,
i know of the oppression where man integrating
into these societies is told to relinquish his mother tongue,
i know of these oppressions: and of eastern european "exotica" -
you wouldn’t be fooled to expect tigers and polar bears,
palms date trees and icebergs to be so close to england!
murzynek bambo wita! kopciuszek magda wita!
                                          hanzel und gretyl / bambo i magda!
but did you know poland is the host nation of the european
bison, and the no. 1 tourist destination of storks?
                                                                      oh... polar bears it is.

You're an emerald zipped up
you are like a thousand eyes;
that traverse the Universe ...
you are like stone
made new sand and water.

Grain to Ladder Magda sand
I take you with my arms,
because my tears
reel in your mermaid kisses.

Magda mother you are full;
like a statue of sand,
leave my rib and my hip
to be attached to your zipper.

Where should you be and how are you?
if you are not dressed as a skirt,
all skirt all whole
all mine, without a change,
makes us think Magdalena.

Emerald impregnated in the stone ...
no one will change your world,
since the world grows like the wind;
like the one who catches your nose
like the one that ages your brain
spawned in fields of mist ...

You are wind ... from the high tree,
of the highest in the world,
of emerald paths ...
you are the indifferent wind that carries your weight;
condense your grief ...,
and rush your sweat into the most beautiful sand ...

Hey Magda sweat;
sweat beads raining sand on you,
you don't aged and you don't die ...
Well you and heaven
they are a poetry family
that pierce your eyes and mine,
in the conquest of having you Magdalena ...

Apple cinnamon, ice cream pie
tasty pastries land on my thighs;

Tell me, which side will you like? crumbling crust out layer
Or cinnamon squeezed with nutmeg apple inner?

Secret sour flavour waves off  ice-cream. Sweet tasty apples,
Hot pie with
Cold ice cream
Fresh and yum yum..


~~@ Magda and family
Many thanks to share with us
A homemade Apple Pie 🥧😋

If only, if only a small red fish would come
  show his golden eyes above the apathetic ocean and ask me
to make three wishes, to have three dreams I can’t come up with one

If only, if only the tides would come, burning
  to wash us off the shore, to take us, wrap us
and bury us like amnesiac seeds in its warm *****, its vast womb

If it came as an enormous face, a shining face
  to look us in the eye, to draw us into its blinding mirror,
to make us press our mouths to its vast lips, and into its huge blue eye
  retreat and rest...

If only, if only something, someone, anything, anyone would come,
    a ray of dark apocalyptic light, an effervescent narcotic toxin,
a new shiver, a new anxiety, a leap into a different world,
    if only there could be another man, another wisdom, a new thought
to think us all          to deliver us from ourselves, to abolish us

and we cease, universe, souls, if only we could endure the birthing pain

to sleep... die... sleep... to rise again into Imagination...

Magda Carneci from *My Cup of Light

so Jacky has gone up from
20 quid a liter
to 32 quid...
  
    back on the Bacardi...
can't complain...
   there is never quiet enough
*** to
satisfy a sailor,
or a... sailing, ship?

      it makes sense...
somehow, somewhere,
and against a concept /
concern of a, now...

   never now, never bank on
a now...
   now is the impossibility
of answering both
the how & why question...
now is not:
   now, how?
  & now, why?
        it's neither...

how is the space,
and why is the time...
which makes no sense
to ask the different question
at the same time...

now...
     now what?
oh ****... so "now" there's also a who?
it's ***...

so this article about Millennial(s)...
their 30 something sexless lives...
pundits,
in the realm of psychology...

o.k., fair enough,
i discovered jerking off aged
7...
having found a pornographic
magazine
in the catacombs of
a church being built
while playing hide & seek
with my childhood friends...

managed to ******* before
i managed to produce *****...
so... yeah...
the feeling of ******
is unrelated to *******
*****...
  nothing to do with it...

Magda... Magdalene...
my next door neighbor...
we had a bath together...
****-naked comparing
genitals...
she had a Barbie,
and i had the Ken...
and we wondered after:
so...
why is Ken an ******...
and we played:
fiddling the missing
part together...

     Magdalene's surname?
Bucior -
which means:
   a roughed up boot...

then i do remember my first
year in England...
living in a house
of a half Jewish family...
and 20+ migrant men lived
there also...

happy ******* childhood!
so i taught the half Jewish boy
my little something...
i says to him while we're
having a bath,
and my mother is in the bathroom
ironing...

hey...
   i've found a funny sensation...
so we ****** off in the bath...
******* jack-****...
but the muscle sensation
was there...

               so... this thing about
Millennial(s) turning to *******
****?
  really?
people watch that ****?
  i never did ****,
and mind you:
never intended to...
   ******* ****? really?!

so no **** stills...
you know... of a naked body...
when you had to actually
walk into
a corner-shop
and grow a pair of *****
and buy a ***** magazine?!
no?
   so not jerking off to fine
art nudes?!
     so my generation was
always into *******
facials and just about teasing
*******?!
          
          i was about as *******
as translating a niqab into
a latex *** suit...
    and imitating sly, ******,
slithering, squeezing...
unable to make grip
on either elbow, knee,
or thigh...
   but hell... you did one better...

Tantra massages?
kissing frenzies worth an hour
till your lips go numb
and you turn to clashing teeth?
no?

             so...
******* **** killed off Millennial
*** lives?
  you sure it wasn't
about forgetting the joys
of foreplay?

                you know... recounting
the lives of virgins...
third base? second base?
  no... no longer fun kissing
till your lips are numb,
no longer fun
   teasing the marriage of bodies
with oral parts and eyes?

not the part where the man's
face looks like he's been eating
a bowl of molten butter?

i seriously don't need *******
*******...
i go back to the still life...
nudes...
  and... ****... start imagining it...
or turn to pure audio...
   or fine art nudes...
          
   from what i've seen...
or rather: from what i wish i've never seen...
and who the hell needs
nudes?
    a nice snippet of cleavage
and we're...
    well...
   not exactly on the terms
of inclusive agreement.