Suckers
His love had blind tendrils
that wriggled along -
they clung and clung.
She pressed autumn leaves
and scraps of his erotica.
She tucked his damp poetry
away for later.
He came with chocolates
wrapped in a low-minded lust,
yet with a heart to trust;
a slippery organ
he claimed to be true.
Though she did not appreciate
that sucking noise he made
when he said:-
I love you.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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