i wish to
substitute sex
with writing
for the pen is
rudimentary
and has been known
to fail
to create characters
in its splatters and
the rush of a climax
that satisfies only one usually
and sometimes
even then
did you like it
because i only do
if you did the do
too
but there’s too much
to read in between the lines
of a palm
that you’re meant to lick
even when it’s bereft
of coconuts and their juices –
these meat trees
don’t offer much
more than constipation
compared to fibre
and always,
there’s hardening in all
the wrong parts
*
i was young
and happy once
when i younger and happier
but now i have
those thinking thoughts
that swim and splash
and sink atop another
growing as i do
and in the other ways
i don’t
for the sea is large
and i’ve only piled in a small line
leaving me further from me
and from the youth
that falls and forgets
how young it was once
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