a fuckpile of fingerpuppets
march about the muggy meat market
precocious perky-breasted playthings prancing proudly
did something pass me by?

deep beneath my sweat-slicked skin
lingers my loathsome licentious lust
these pristine parcels seem so pliable not pertinacious
how was it ever hard?

and I long
somewhere deep inside the leviathan libido lies

and I long
for the slapping of skin in the sweltering summer

and I long
for the palpable perspiration in the permutations of penetration

and I long
for both forgotten fantasies fulfilled and exploits unexplored

somewhere deep inside the aging tiger longs
but the aging eyes of the tragic toothless terror
only look

they look now with disdain and distrust
unrequited unrepentant lingering leers
fixated but fatigued

is it possible?
to have a past so fruitfully filled as to be unfulfilled
a life lacking in the excitation of erotic emptiness