it wasn’t the ocre velvet,
how that blouse made of
skin-tones, even in dust, showed
her huge bust Or how,
fed and juicy, half-stuffed,
still she was a beauty. Not those
words the lover belted her with
like cock-slapping barrage. She
knew there would always be
another, and if anyone
could get what she wants
she knows she is the one--with
those two big zeppelins
popping out. If she survived
the war in her head
she knows she can survive
anything from this box
of syrup.
Sure, the scent of his juice
haunted, she could
not wash it from her cleavage.
But she’ll be damned if
she let the what-have-beens
braid into her.
Learn more about MJ's
Publishing History
05 October 2012
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