hanging over
a hunk of ham, of flesh
a slice of the delicatessen
in my fever dreamsslices, and chunks
ripples of sinfully sweet
saccharine and corn
dripping and my senses
climax
unbearablyI but pinch my sides
bruised by the too-tight denims
that cut between the cheeks of my
meandering buttit always hurts like hell
again, and againas I look at the emaciated
hoochie mamas
with their belly-tanks,
their platform shoes that do not crack
from the burden,
the silver crosses caressing their firm breastsmy hands find the hardening tips
hanging over a draping middle
to squeeze, and squeeze
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