After Shakespeare and Mullen
My Grindr hookup’s eyes are kind of dark,
but mostly red from smoking too much weed.
If manscaped chests are smooth, he’s a grassy park;
if appearance reveals class, then he is seedy.
I’ve seen a whole shitload of rainbow merch,
but he’s all in black, a too-old goth.
I know that he would leave me in the lurch
if he got a text from someone hotter.
If colognes were oceans, I could swim in his;
he could’ve skipped the spritz and taken a shower.
But he’s here and his dick is pretty big,
so, what the hell; we’ll be done in half an hour.
He’s about as godlike as a spade,
but I’m fucking desperate to get laid.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
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