not a wanker

And in hindsight, he thought smartly,
Kisses are made of wet lips tasteful.
And that it would suffice in the evening shine
Made of butter glow and pay-to-see dime
To kiss the light that brought behind the curve of her slender,
Decrepit loving being, in its phase-crime.

And that to let it go was to give it liberty to explore,
I guess that's the word.
To incapacitate the wanting to awake with them
Was the most serene, most sound
Equivalent gentle man thing. 

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