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  • Pleasures
    At the peak of despair my rucksack contains
    some glistening keepsakes.
    Though burdened by sadness and hate
    I cannot deny these trifling pleasures.

    I take pleasure in art which convinces me,
    if only for a while, that human designs have worth,
    and hope and love are real as bones.
    Like Oriental lamps it floats to the roof of my skull,
    a thousand fragile lighthouses.

    I take pleasure in the buttocks of men
    when they're firm as a deity's fist, high as roofbeams
    and tight as a highwayman's heart.
    When I see ones I like I want to bury myself inside them,
    cock and balls entirely, until my gender disappears.

    I take pleasure in battered chicken.
    Even the greasy paper bag and polysterene cup of sauce
    resurrects my joyousness, lost since childhood.

    I take pleasure in nihilism and atheism.
    Humility is beautiful, and the buttocks of men taste that bit more divine
    when one doesn't have to thank Yahweh for them.
    after reading that i might change in my old ageTongue


    Thanks for the kind comment, SJSmile

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