Rectangles Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Many a day she played with my rectangles.
Wishing to pick them up,
And lay them upon her breasts.
She said they supplied her with energy.
To me they were perfect angles...
I made into rectangles.

Many a day she played with my rectangles.
And asked if I would make her a few.
They weren't made out of plastic,
Or of anything that would last.
They were just rectangles I drew on paper...
Whenever I was bored,
And wishing for her ass to grasp!

I told her that!
And she would laugh and laugh.
They were just rectangles.
And before she touched them...
They were headed for the trash!