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bukowskiesque
Stephen Woodward
United Kingdom, West Midlands, Brum

Words: 374
Access: Public
Comments: 0

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Love in a time of lager.

I remember you when you hand touched mine,
It felt real, it felt true, I felt alive,
I can't forget the way you made me feel,
In that shitty dance hall dive.

It was strobe lit passion of wandering hands,
I was held by your gentle touch,
I twanged your g-string and fondled your breasts,
So thanks for that, ta very much.

You glistened with sweat and shone like the stars,
I felt like there was only the two of us there,
Then I noticed the crowds of curious eyes,
Some people had pulled up their chairs.

We skidded around on a puddled dancefloor,
To Wham and Dexies and A-Ha,
I forgot the time as we danced away,
Because I'd also lost my watch in your bra.

The trips to the bog felt like hours without you,
They were moments of gross dereliction,
I had to wait so much longer to use the cubicles,
If only to hide my erection.

There was warmth, there was light as we slurred away,
I almost understood what you said,
And when back from the bar that last fateful time,
You'd gone but not to my bed.

As I looked for my coat, which also went too,
I found nothing but fag butts and glass,
And for a moment I thought of that careless passion,
And longed to once more touch you ass.

I thought of your face, your knockers and bum,
Your legs and your hands figured too,
Add I think you came back - I was aghast.
Why on earth go outside to the loo?

We kissed so much longer though your mouth tasted different,
I was due one final rebuke,
I think I knew why though I wasn't put off,
By the taste in your mouth of your puke.

You felt so much larger and your clothes felt so different,
You kissed like a magical feast,
Then I groped your groin and I think felt a knob,
I was sure it was a different beast.

So I ran to the exit without the coat that she took,
And wondered what he'd done to me,
I'll never go back to meaningless sex,
Because the meaning in life is to be

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