If it is plastic, metal, glass,
or the end of a bottle;
even if it’s realistic,
with veins and all;
or much bigger than me;
if the humming makes you shiver;
black or green or putridly pink;
lasts all night or until the
batteries expire:
I don’t mind.
But if it’s rubber,
hot-water-filled and
clasped tightly to your bosom,
I hate it ‘til it hurts.
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