Art, Poetry
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the puetrarican from brooklyn

we sit on a fountain edge
saying fuck it to nyc
then he takes me to a bench
and feeds me turkey and american
with a little bit of white
a terrible sponge if there was one
and mouthful of tequila
no worm at the end tho

we go back to his apartment
a bed and a tv and a window
he kisses and pulls up my shirt
i smell the scent of south america

we fall on his bed
my pants below my knees
i feel him hard and ready to go
he takes it out and presses hard
and i jbegin to cry

i lay in his arms now
he strokes my har and says it will be ok
i miss toledo and i miss her face
and when i leave i throw a banana away

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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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