every one of them is bigger all four of the men in the muscle car rolling down windows calling cunt itching to make her a shaking wraith on the sidewalk & she’s shaking but not that way firebolt seraphim have taken control of her two fuck you fingers & unloaded on those pizza-dough cheeks those tar-pit mouths when the car stops cold rocking on its shocks engine block rumbling the men start arguing what to do about an uppity bitch on the loose with an attitude
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Oh, oh, oh .... makes my heart pound and my fuck you fingers twitch
Great poem! Sad truth