Keep my silicone souls and moans away from him.
I know the plateau that starts with a text then ends with a sext is inevitably fast—
but protect the used sledgehammers waiting for a clenched fist to call them “mine.”
Give amour to the dried up weed
he inhales the aroma of
for an escape
that has shriveled up to a addiction.
Help the curvy waist,
it is adored by his skillful hands
who studies the anatomy of women well enough to
know every prominence that will make you plea for more.
Care for the brittle bones dancing in the flames of his fiery heart.