"Number Won"
I'm on one, too.
Three strikes.
Four scores.
Five stars
and six degrees
on the seventh day
of figure eights
around nine lives.
Perfect ten.
I'm all eleven wonders in one.
The ace after the even number
with the convenient clarity
of a multitude or singularity.
Blackjack barometer.
Your makeshift thermometer
Accuses me of fondling numbers.
Well when I'm six feet under,
Will I replace the ninth wonder?
I'm searching for answers
With this eight ball in my hands.
Does it say I'm twice as lucky
Or I don't stand half of a chance?
Stood still from four points
Just to view the Sabbath
With no statistical chance
To engage in bad habits.
Three sixty five days
And I only got it twice;
So on day three sixty six,
I better get my fix.
On an arithmetic mission
That requires lowered eyes,
A rock solid coefficient
And two separated thighs.
Submission to long division.
Variable extraction.
Addition by subtraction
Always simplifies the fraction.
You think that's incredibly sexy.
Likely why you call and text me.
I know you wouldn't test me;
But something tends to vex me:
This is your seventh visit
To my domicile to date.
If the clock creeps past eleven,
Would you consider that too late?
It's ten thirty nine,
your fourth glass of wine,
And the last forecast
Said the weather wont be fine.
Found about three blankets
And an extra two pillows.
Air is sixty three degrees.
You're on true chill, though.
Damn. Was I too uncouth?
Was that vermouth eighty proof?
Maybe platonic is the truth.
So much for my sweet tooth.
Thought I was deep in the game.
Thought we were one in the same.
Riled me up and left me tame.
I just lay here feeling lame.
It was twelve fifty four
Before I slept through your snores.
Now it's one twenty nine.
You reach in from behind.
Two or three blinks
And I can feel you wink.
Lust level at eleven.
Hands squeeze as they sink.
Had too much to drink?
I mean I've learned my lessons:
Know when not to think
And avoid twenty one questions.
Forget that last minute.
Make the most of each hour.
Actually, no time limit.
Just a session and a shower.
Ten fingers.
Yeah. Two hands
And a pair of lips
Surround one shaft
Like one bad mother.
Damn right.
Lost track of time
But we both won tonight.
Never knew where or when
I would get back in those guts
As you scaled numerous limbs
In hope of more than two nuts.
Enjoyed eight little deaths.
Was going for all nine lives,
But we've lost enough sweat.
It's five fifty five.
You sure you have to go?
Stay a little after six.
I've so much more in store.
Learned a handful of tricks.
You say "On day three sixty six,
I might check up on you.
But hey, we did have fun."
Damn. She was on one, too.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
I'm on one, too.
Three strikes.
Four scores.
Five stars
and six degrees
on the seventh day
of figure eights
around nine lives.
Perfect ten.
I'm all eleven wonders in one.
The ace after the even number
with the convenient clarity
of a multitude or singularity.
Blackjack barometer.
Your makeshift thermometer
Accuses me of fondling numbers.
Well when I'm six feet under,
Will I replace the ninth wonder?
I'm searching for answers
With this eight ball in my hands.
Does it say I'm twice as lucky
Or I don't stand half of a chance?
Stood still from four points
Just to view the Sabbath
With no statistical chance
To engage in bad habits.
Three sixty five days
And I only got it twice;
So on day three sixty six,
I better get my fix.
On an arithmetic mission
That requires lowered eyes,
A rock solid coefficient
And two separated thighs.
Submission to long division.
Variable extraction.
Addition by subtraction
Always simplifies the fraction.
You think that's incredibly sexy.
Likely why you call and text me.
I know you wouldn't test me;
But something tends to vex me:
This is your seventh visit
To my domicile to date.
If the clock creeps past eleven,
Would you consider that too late?
It's ten thirty nine,
your fourth glass of wine,
And the last forecast
Said the weather wont be fine.
Found about three blankets
And an extra two pillows.
Air is sixty three degrees.
You're on true chill, though.
Damn. Was I too uncouth?
Was that vermouth eighty proof?
Maybe platonic is the truth.
So much for my sweet tooth.
Thought I was deep in the game.
Thought we were one in the same.
Riled me up and left me tame.
I just lay here feeling lame.
It was twelve fifty four
Before I slept through your snores.
Now it's one twenty nine.
You reach in from behind.
Two or three blinks
And I can feel you wink.
Lust level at eleven.
Hands squeeze as they sink.
Had too much to drink?
I mean I've learned my lessons:
Know when not to think
And avoid twenty one questions.
Forget that last minute.
Make the most of each hour.
Actually, no time limit.
Just a session and a shower.
Ten fingers.
Yeah. Two hands
And a pair of lips
Surround one shaft
Like one bad mother.
Damn right.
Lost track of time
But we both won tonight.
Never knew where or when
I would get back in those guts
As you scaled numerous limbs
In hope of more than two nuts.
Enjoyed eight little deaths.
Was going for all nine lives,
But we've lost enough sweat.
It's five fifty five.
You sure you have to go?
Stay a little after six.
I've so much more in store.
Learned a handful of tricks.
You say "On day three sixty six,
I might check up on you.
But hey, we did have fun."
Damn. She was on one, too.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
No comments:
Post a Comment