Cheap brandy in my coffee,
Cardbordeaux by the glass;
I spend days writing poetry,
with no depth, so little class.
Many missed opportunities,
chances I’ve readily blown;
I pen of loves most coveted,
of loves I’ve not yet known.
I write about more orgasms,
than will ever grace my bed;
the greatest of sexual trysts,
are the ones still in my head.
Many may think me a loner,
though I’m rarely ever alone;
with a pen and pad of paper,
I’ve always someone to bone.
~gj duerrschmidt
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