with your frat boy bounce, fist
gripped around some peonies, fresh steaming dough
baked on your homely stone for her
alone, she should know that vows you spout
would fill a stadium empty
as your chest; that the good emails you sent
to grease her up ("'twas but a dream
of thee" and that ripe crap) were writ by Donne
and meant no more than worms
you'd feed a stupid fish; that the hot girl slang
you'll naked whisper came
from Bambi (sexysluts.c0m) and has been pitched
as underhand and low to schoolgirls
you did con to bed—and yes, to me: dumb cunt.
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