WASH THAT LUBE OUT OF YOUR HAIR LASSIE

The wisdom of your therapist is a Chinese Fortune Cookie, 
Wrapped in the deliberation of 20 years of schooling 
and they put you on the day shift.
The wisdom of your spare uterus,
You know the one you keep out back,
Is wrapped in the scars of broken condoms turned black.

I trace your purple lipstick on the nipples of a pristine dove, 
In darkness overwhelming, 
Sisters are doing for little elves.
Shelves upon shelves of a horny little gnome, 
Help my hands find their way to your hairy little home.

Gently strip and touch your toes,
Violently hip, your hips in pose,
Gyrate around the finger with the ring, 
Public declaration of a specific type of demise.

Applaud and throw rice on those Martha Stewart boobies, 
Wrapped in lace and panties of disgrace, 
On your honeymoon in Barbados,
(Yeah we know you've never been to Barbados), 
Take that gun from your head 
and relinquish the silent pounds of your body.

Things ain't what they used to be,
Tears ain't made of salt no more no more.
Waxy ears don't hear sermons delivered in shrieking anonymity, 
Jealous lovers weep from the scent of shared loins, 
Wash that lube out of your hair Lassie.

{POETRY}