In the back lot of our love affair
Your slippery sweetness resonated like a gong.
There was a time you'd ask twice for a roll of toilet paper.
When will you ask me for rolls again?
Deep within the bowels of passion
Where heat rises with a moist scent, so thick you can see --
I made cinnamon rolls from a can, spread packets of icing.
When will you ask me for rolls again?
Just outside the kitchen of our relationship
A scratching sound claws at my eyes with scarlet streaks.
I tumbled down the hillside that summer day.
You'll never ask me for rolls again.
(Written for the Poetry Games: Awesome Crappy Poems Thread in the Piker Press Forums)