They are slimy and in my house.
Their tentacles slick and long…like tongues -with millions of mouths,
suction-cup lips that open and close, open and close,
Winding, slithering, around my coffee tables, my forest-green leather love seats
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You know I'm more of a prose writer, but this came to me as you see it here, all broken-up like, in verse - and putting it down like this, I think it's about sex.
But then again, since when is anything I write not about sex?
Also. Smegma. Eww. Still haven't tested this dried squid theory, but...maybe I will never have to?
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