Not
a sniff
Not a lick
Not a look
Not a nibble
Not a smidge
I'm hard at work
But nowhere else
Going bald
Getting fat
Growing old
Being a doormat
Getting sold
In the wrong format
Shriveling
Diminishing
Reticulating
Doing what I'm told
Whilst my frock
Is being sold
My lips
Taste sweet
Oily
I don't know why
Somebody blessed
The hard bristles
Piercing the ripples
Of intercession
Punctuating their softness
I can taste the residue
Of honey
As I lick myself
Like a ghost
In a quandary
surrendering
To your delinquency
Naked sweating
In hot rain
Get ready I must
To refrain
The tang of rust
Wets my tongue
Twice as much
As a coat hanger
Empty and longing.
2018 / 19 / 20 (revised a few times)
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