FreeWrights Peer Review™

You’re my dirge

I hum along with the hymn of the battle:
you v. your cock — who will come first?
(fought and re-fought, you never win … I ha ha never win)
you’ve forgotten there were previous fights. . . .

With match decided, I chant a tired requiem,
“His brain lost to his comfort; Lord, hear our prayer.”

I finger your hair, caressing, testing your scalp,
“There must/be some/thing un/der here,” a trill I release.

“You sing the song of loss of revelrie and joy in our bed,”
your cock sings a glee falsetto to me,
“you and your ditties of love.”

“That was great,” your mouth tenors out.

oblique and intriguing. I smirked at the ending ( and at other moments, I confess)

I think you could easily delete L 3 in S 1.

Your fusion-tone is distinctive; I haven't yet tasted all the ingredients.

I am so stupid- i finally worked out what 'v.' meant. ha.
it is smirk worthy I suppose, but for some reason I felt a tad guilty after reading this.