She did long to get to call herself my honey
Too many men had, after all, paid for her every worth
So she said
Haphazardous squirts here and there
Sod it!
We can wait and see, I offered right back
Whilst she leant on over, hardly there, so far from sober
Giving me sublime head upon my unmade bed
Leonard Cohen does indeed come to mind – you must remember ‘The Chelsea Hotel’
He had his spell and now it seems I’m having mine
“I am not who they say I am!”
But really she was, how could she not be!?
Underwear writhing around her eager ankles time and time again
Rooted to this particular spot
Hot off the street forever and a day it seemed
But I do love her, a small part of her at least
The aching part of this lonesome girl a fair degree south of a quivering heart
I think you get what I mean… far too keen!?
“Clean yourself off and we get to go all over again.”
There they were – dog-eared in a corner desk – my notepad aside my pickled pen
My God though, those buxom breasts!
One man couldn’t help but be impressed
Truthfully told, I forget the rest