IRENE THE ATM MACHINE [Poem] by Willie Smith

Pink Litter 14/10

thefates

In my dreams Irene won’t shut up. Even asleep of her I can’t get shut.

Celebrated porno queen, virtual ATM machine. Does about a gang a day to keep the bills away.

Whenever I key off my card the numbers I ache to rid myself of the riddle of her wink – mouth otherwise occupied with either the meat of her trade or the vowels of ecstasy faked:

What goes on three legs to the bank; comes back with nothing to show but a wank?

Oh, it’s me, I know. But I burn to stymie that eye begging my spine so bent on escape. Succubus won’t stay at the back of the bus. Desideratum any dum-dum must compute.

Everytime she riddles – mouth stuffed or in an O – in her glint I bask, unable to stop the whole of my being aroused.

In my dreams Irene won’t shut up. Even asleep of her I can’t get shut.


Oh how you want them…until they won’t leave you alone. Oh how you want them on you and can’t wait to get them off. Something like that — M.R. 

Published by mistyrampart

Freelancer, poet, dreamer

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