Art, Poetry
Comments 2

Lady Gaga’s Clitoris

Is it short and soft?

Like the tip of a penis?

And does it stand tall and erect?

When it’s him she longs for?

 

And does she touch herself often?

When he whispers he’s coming?

Or does she let it dry out,

Liked a dog coming in from the rain?

 

And does it feel his sliver?

When it begs for his linger?

Like a child whimpering,

Just to lay in his mom’s bed?

 

Perhaps it calls for no one,

But a vibrato it hasn’t felt.

The tremolo of a suitor,

She refuses to let in?

 

And if that man isn’t his bicep,

But rather a ghost of a poet…

What is it that her little nub

really begs to please?

 

And if that is the question,

Is it he or I she really needs?

 

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This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry

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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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