AS I POOP ON ALLISON WATERS

Merging vectors in your sink,
You merge into her roller rink,
And underneath your urge to think,
An urge to lick the pinkest pink.

Sink into a quagmire that requires 47 stitches,
A hot tamale with Brando' swagger.
You said you fucked the Ambassadors to all your favorite countries,
No wonder the UN smells like Chinese food.

Two-timing number,
Sucking on lumber,
Secrets kept,
But hints abound.

Protein in your diaphragm,
MSG in your IUD,
Salami in your condom,
Pubic hair of some girl name Jill in your pill.

Now, unprotected in the twilight zone,
The highlight zone of lust and affection.
Pegged for a sinner, yet merely a beginner,
No more groping, eloping with moans.

Sizing up that orgasm you had last December,
Sizing up the fortune that you spent not to remember,
Sizing up the quality of lovers that you've had,
Sizing up the efforts not to resemble your dad.

Shirk your doudie in a constipated vow,
Tongues are dragged from stern to bough,
Lubricated vessels enter uncharted daughters,
As I poop on Allison Waters.

{POETRY}