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The Ballad Of The Lonely Masturbator

Rating: 2.9

The end of the affair is always death.
She's my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
Finger to finger, now she's mine.
She's not too far. She's my encounter.
I beat her like a bell. I recline
in the bower where you used to mount her.

You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
some yoiung kid 21 November 2018

whats masterbating?

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