Aged twenty-five, bedtime is all arm-swinging
and ball-scratching, increasingly aware of ape-like ways
scrabbling low at beige carpet, grunting and lazy,
cold and naked, close the door to my own cage
with a raging erection which requires reaction
but my mate is so far away so, frustrated and alone,
beat out the rest of this metaphor before falling
snoring asleep; just five short evolutionary steps
short of flinging shit with my sweet prehensile tail.
No comments:
Post a Comment