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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Dregs & Other Unreadables

pausing to appreciate your stockings

Swing me with gentle hands
cleaned and soft with dishsoap

until I vomit
loudly
on your shoes.

Then,
I'll clean the orange chunks up
with cheap paper towels,

as we both gag and squirm
in the cloud of dinner's cold stench
and you scream my name.

What could be more romantic
than regurgitated love
and the caress of dishpan hands?
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