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They Don't KissTo Shane Allison's previous piece     I Think My Friend Matt is a VampireTo Shane Allison's next piece


eye've been told that 8 million people live in New York,
so why in the hell do i keep running into you
on the street of used books, water-resistant watches
and steak shish kabobs
you keep popping up in my dreams
fat naked, and snoring.
saying in your British accent, "let me inside you."
you're stuck to my thoughts 
like bubble gum 
& eye'm trying to scrape 
you off the alligator shoe of my fantasies,
but it's the piercing in the head of your cock
that keeps snagging on the belt loop of my jeans.
eye refuse to see this shit as a sign.
some meaning that we were meant
to be together. 
eye will not be suckered into believing that 
you are my Mr. Right, my fuckin' Knight in black combat boots.
Sister Fay, My personal palm reader says, 
my man has soft lips
& dreadlocks.
you've got an ear ring through your dick and a buzz cut haircut
8 million people in this city, and all I get is in e-mail saying 
you saw me in the bar and was going to say hi,
but I left before you could make your move
of course i think your fulla shit
i'm just  the 61st man in your little black book 
eye'll get you outta my head yet,
if i have to cut it open and wash my brain out
with holy water.

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