Top Drawer

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Inside a drawer, I store a load of junk
to be prepared upon the coming date
I wake to find my Herculean hunk
near whipped to death by labor, time, and fate;
for though today the stud is in its prime,
in three short years, its bod turns twenty-one,
and no bard can immortalize in rhyme
fab six-pack abs by twelve-pack beers undone;
thus, in the drawer among the bondage chains,
electrode penis pads, and nipple clamps,
plus splintered bones with chunks of meat remains,
I keep one vital thing like all shrewd vamps --
since packed-off beer-gut rejects tend to fuss
till handed tickets for a wide-seat bus.
 
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