The Lifer's Wife

By blighters rock

Sat, 09 Nov 2013
  • 1326 reads
5 comments
 

A lone sausage at the open fridge

the still night gothed

and sodden

 

she caresses the soppy length

of the brown meaty bloat

that warns her girth

 

and swoons

of dildos marching home,

at her feet a French letter

she cannot use and dare not yearn

for the lifer who will never

splay her breadth again

Certificate 18
Poem
Humour

Comments

Submitted by blighters rock on

I need to say that this poem was conceived from a recent poem called A Fifer's Wife by Bear. Writing and reading it made me laugh so I posted it. I hope no one's offended.

 

Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on

This is not offensive. You can't help it if you have a 'bad' sense of humour that veers off from another poem. I can imagine the poor dame wanting a good bit of sausage too!          Elsie

Submitted by blighters rock on

Cheers for that, Elsie. 

 

Submitted by Denzella on

To err is human to fuck divine.  Who said that? Just to put your miind at rest about being offensive.

Moya

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

Cheers Moya. More profane intervention to come. Youre a star