HUGS AND KISSES

XOXO, XOXO.
He ails alone. He reminisces.
While the 2nd hand is ticking
from 7 – 10, he’s kicking
himself. “Lost opportunities!”
he frets. He bets he’ll never see
a trick w/ such a high °
of passion as…the last 19.
He scores like a vending machine
(75¢ dump routine).
His flings last, from pillar to post,
½ a minute, @ the most,
but still the chance for another
chance…+ the chance for another
30
dirty
seconds
beckons
him to sweat it out. He reckons,
in the long run, he’ll come to grips
& find a suppliant whose lips
tastes as sweet as Pb[CH3CO]2
( heartbreaking as scripture he’s read,
“…I saw A* fall from heaven…”).
Yes, just as toxic. Eleven
ticks to 2. He finds a lover
at last, but then they discover
his rank < meets the eye.
“I’m gonna block your # !” cry
$12 hustlers high on meth.
For 1/120
of each hour he hungers. He aches.
He yearns. He pines. He longs. He craves.
Of rejects, he has no =
For each jilt, there is a sequel.
He covets. He dearly misses
XOXO, XOXO.