December Poem 6

Divergent Loathing in Las Vegas.


Gotta get em young.

Hotdog crust fried chicken.

They gotta eat.


Jesus. In that dress I teabagged,

She seemed miraculous:

A shift from non-ceased following,

A negative in an instant,

And often, an expert use of a hundred logic arrows.

My God, her butt did look big.

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