this is the anti-fuck poem it hates the other fuck poems it is not against fucking it hates the fuck poems that do nothing but fuck fuck poems sweating cumming together fuck poems throbbing members meeting drenched pussies poems
fluids bursting flooding fingers on keyboards poems quivering melting heaps simultaneously splattering words onto a thousand pages poems
this anti-fuck poem feels pale dicks pulsating weakly juices running down legs staining sheets this poem stares out windows checks its watch counts to ten it has more simultaneous thoughts than orgasms it can fuck indifferently the objects of its obsessions and stay obsessed with the indifferent fucks in this anti-fuck poem the television is watching the phone is ringing strangers are leaving six minute messages this anti-fuck poem hears every word
this anti-fuck poem is not conservative threesomes, orgies abound partners merge with contempt mate with ambivilance rage sucks on jealousy envy snaps photographs as lust lingers in the corner watching fear whip love into submission
this anti-fuck poem remembers romance sublime perfections of first unions replicated in each encounter passion dying upon recognition this anti-fuck poem is scarred by the softest kiss below the collarbone marked by the gentle lips of the disappeared
this anti-fuck poem is a recovering fuck poem relapsing into nameless infatuations slippery and wordless this poem listens to silence sleeps in sunlight, touches jade eats papayas lightly salted swims in coral waters this poem stares into mirrors it almost called itself a love poem but the looking glass exploded into glittering crystal mango-kissed words