I got up to write a poem today,
dawn is barely breaking;
didn’t sleep a wink last night,
now my head is aching.
I suppose I’ll take two aspirin,
to help my brandy coffee;
and take my mind off the pain,
sucking an English toffee.
Writing poetry’s much like sex:
eventually it will come;
sometimes the wait is longer,
mostly, can’t get some.
If I’d a sweet thing in my bed,
hell no, I’d not be writing;
but rather madly sucking on it,
licking it hard, and biting!
Now I’m feeling wide awake,
no pain, and a little horny;
I believe I’ve a poem in mind:
very sexual, a little corny.
~gj duerrschmidt
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