deepundergroundpoetry.com
Good Night, Mrs. Calabash,
With tentacles of the night,
bringing her a dream of obscene.
la petite mort, the little death,
tasting flesh through the dark filter,
from her cunt's abyss.
Lusting insomniac, go I,
grasping her throat,
hemorrhaging caffeine
peeling back her morality,
with her clit's rusted sheen.
Good night, Mrs. Calabash,
wherever you are,
but you forgot the oughta,
of saying your prayers.
bringing her a dream of obscene.
la petite mort, the little death,
tasting flesh through the dark filter,
from her cunt's abyss.
Lusting insomniac, go I,
grasping her throat,
hemorrhaging caffeine
peeling back her morality,
with her clit's rusted sheen.
Good night, Mrs. Calabash,
wherever you are,
but you forgot the oughta,
of saying your prayers.
Published 23rd Jan 2023
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Anonymous
27th Jan 2023 4:58am
hottt
27th Jan 2023 12:29pm
