1st edit done with thanks all round.
for the heads up on the grammar, in my life, grammar is the family of an Alzheimer patient, loved but seldom known of.
and for the ambiguity of tits; i'm sure there's a anne sexton poem in something like that. will work on the tit aspect in the next edit. largess in my spell checker is Largess which i know is wrong so i'm well screwed
A Wanker's Graph
Me and the placenta escaped
confinement where Debussy was pleasant
enough, with company from Chopin and co.
The teat while sweet and nourishing kept giving
issues in puberty; I deemed myself a tit-man
at thirteen. Mother was replaced by girls
called Jenny or Sue and disappeared,
though her breast size stayed with me into adulthood.
Largesse flowed into and flopped
out of my hands; masturbation
an occupational therapy to keep
me in tip top condition. I'd spurt
over mum's Littlewood's catalogue three times a day
at least.
Penis size never cropped up till i was sixteen
"It's not very thick is it?"
when it was up her arse I asked
"Is it thick enough now?"
She meowed like a cat and called
me a dirty cunt.
The next three decades saw the demise of libido;
three wanks a day from a good imagination.
Sex was a given and a taken, three or five times
a week; like the breakfast bowl of cornflakes
always there to fill the hunger.
After that, the millennium shit its pants
and left me to Viagra; swallowed
like blue M and M's, they scared me with heart attacks,
worthwhile heart attacks that made one clutch
a blued steel boner with a smile.
An odd one's still flipped out; the race
horse of a cock still wants to please,
but is more interested in munching hay.
for the heads up on the grammar, in my life, grammar is the family of an Alzheimer patient, loved but seldom known of.
and for the ambiguity of tits; i'm sure there's a anne sexton poem in something like that. will work on the tit aspect in the next edit. largess in my spell checker is Largess which i know is wrong so i'm well screwed
A Wanker's Graph
Me and the placenta escaped
confinement where Debussy was pleasant
enough, with company from Chopin and co.
The teat while sweet and nourishing kept giving
issues in puberty; I deemed myself a tit-man
at thirteen. Mother was replaced by girls
called Jenny or Sue and disappeared,
though her breast size stayed with me into adulthood.
Largesse flowed into and flopped
out of my hands; masturbation
an occupational therapy to keep
me in tip top condition. I'd spurt
over mum's Littlewood's catalogue three times a day
at least.
Penis size never cropped up till i was sixteen
"It's not very thick is it?"
when it was up her arse I asked
"Is it thick enough now?"
She meowed like a cat and called
me a dirty cunt.
The next three decades saw the demise of libido;
three wanks a day from a good imagination.
Sex was a given and a taken, three or five times
a week; like the breakfast bowl of cornflakes
always there to fill the hunger.
After that, the millennium shit its pants
and left me to Viagra; swallowed
like blue M and M's, they scared me with heart attacks,
worthwhile heart attacks that made one clutch
a blued steel boner with a smile.
An odd one's still flipped out; the race
horse of a cock still wants to please,
but is more interested in munching hay.
Quote:A Wanker's Graph
Me and the placenta escaped
confinement where Debussy was pleasant
enough, with company from Chopin and co.
The teat while sweet and nourishing kept giving
issues in puberty, I deemed myself a tit-man
at thirteen. Mother was replaced by girls
called Jenny, or Sue and disappeared,
though breast size stayed with me into adulthood.
Largess flowed into and flopped
out of my hands; masturbation
an occupational therapy to keep
me in tip top condition. I'd spurt
over mum's Littlewood's catalogue three times a day
at least.
penis size never cropped up till i was sixteen
"it's not very thick is it?"
when it was up her arse i asked
Is it thick enough now?
she meowed like a cat and called
me a dirty cunt.
The next three decades saw the demise of libido;
three wanks a day from a good imagination.
Sex was a given and a taken, three or five times
a week; Like the breakfast bowl of cornflakes
always there to fill the hunger.
After that, the millennia shit it's pants
and left me to Viagra; swallowed
like blue M and M's, they scared me with heart attacks,
worthwhile heart attacks that made one clutch
a blued steel boner with a smile.
An odd one's still flipped out; the race
horse of a cock still wants to please,
but is more interested in munching hay.