poem.

Craigslist Concubine

Anabolic diets and diaphragm meters clogged more than the arteries exiting the city. Criminally speaking, I can't take my eyes off of you or any other cat scratched mustang romping through Boyle Heights. It's not that high that

I

can't regret not ever seeing it. It's less and less that I see your courageous blue eyes replaced by females wreaking of Koffi Anon. Last night, the groin and the makeshift testicles did me in only partially in preparation for turkey basting and drainage. After all the book reports and pornographic film reviews I have spit and swallowed for your own traumatic asymmetries you'd think that you'd

want you

to be the only bees between my knees. Really, I am in the armpit shaving cream sundae. Ex-LAX and sponsorship from other undigestible matters flooded the CNN freeways, stroking my rear. There is this truck that you talk about on a daily basis. The sheet metal kept crinkling under our twinkle toes. I am not terribly certain about the immediate need

to destroy

every last parking spot this side of Fairfax. I am not moving till June. I caught myself bare lip kissing bricks again with broken bottles of Tapatio. Was it a mistake to tell you everything on the menu at the tamale hut was awesome? Never mind the dog and my little pony show, I tend to strip bare after carrying my unicorn up the steps. These dreams post rubdown are getting more and more lost highway. But really, it was never more revealing than all the spelling mistakes that you couldn't tell

me.