One night stand up right

She had
a butter face
smeared, spoiled
stomped milk.
Horizon curved
body
a treat to devour
the German’s
would say
“etwas zum beißen?”
and to shit a quick poem out
about
a woman that
doesn’t matter.
Not like me,
because obviously
I do.
My priorities
in a twist –
turned a “No”
to a “Yes”
put a bag
on her face
even though my giant
deserving ego
rested on the other side
of the Balek’s scale.
The display of the meter
shot from zero to ten
and back again,
what a burden it was
to listen.
The conversation
took
a turn,
got a little lighter
and
we sparked a fire
on the ends
of our cigarettes.
When the time
came
to butter her bread;
the butter on her face
to present
to be delighted by a taste
of her legs.
“Your place
or mine?”
Her tongue forced
down my throat.
A snake
sliding through
my drainpipe
and thunder battered
down the rain.
Wet sprinkled
perfect body,
but her face
makes me
believe
that it was god’s wraith.
Veni,
vidi,
vici,
and since forever
the bland salad dressing had
bowed to his
emperor.