An Honest Poem (3 is what it was)…

Looking back now,
It strikes me down—
Brushing my fingers thru auburn strands,
as you lay at my side.

A queen to hold us,
a bucket to wash your face–
of puke stains and teardrops,
the laughter of which I know…

She pulls up to me gently,
takes me inside her mouth again
as she complains of pre-cum,
I wonder she brags…

They say my poems have minds of gutters,
and yet honest is all I am,
a condom fell off inside her,
and I was all the confused…

both bitter and resentful,
Bonnie was one with a soul,
tho Vicki was always forthright,
I wonder…

And tho Sam was perhaps both perfect,
a beauty and a lame,
with breasts of goddesses and nipples of dimes,
genital warts was what she claimed…

I woke with a hardon,
remembered my pretty fuck–
went into the bathroom
because of a failure to bust a nut…

the night before was ugly,
with no cum to set her free…
before I put it in her,
she said don’t puke on me…

so many girls, so few to claim,
and still 3 is what I have,
and yet it will always be,
Bonnie the one I miss the most…

as she complained about the pre-cum,
I giggled and finished myself off…
Victoria kissed me in an automobile,
and asked why I laughed…

so many girls, so few to claim,
and still 3 is what I have,
and yet it will always be,
Bonnie the one I miss the most…

because I came too quickly,
and yet hardly at all…
a condom fell off inside her,
and I was simply soft…

ashamed and forlorn,
I told her to go home…
now she’s married and never speaks to me,
but I’ll always give her my honesty…

About Michael Medlen

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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