deepundergroundpoetry.com
Talking Dirty
So-o-o-o,
you want to
fuck my mind
steal my thoughts
then hold me down
on your lusty bed of reason
and thrust your opinions
hard into my face.
In the morning
you'll ask:
How was it for you?
Did the earth move...
more than once?
And I'll say:
Baby,
you were better than a book.
You were my blue sky
after a storm,
my dictionary
full of big brown eyes
crammed with rich green phrases,
sentences sprouting like peas
doubled up to pop
from a perfect pod
in the right place
at the right time
with a shiny new cherry on top.
But then I always
did like
you talking dirty
after dinner.
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