Will you critique this poem?
The thick chair cups the fat *** of the pencil cop.
The meeting is adjourned and he is once again Lincoln Continental safe, speeding home
"Darling will you rub my legs?' he begs
as his pink lips abandon the spittle of his helplessness.
Fat turns to wax.
He slides between the sheets of their king-sized double crypt.
Only to find the mannequin gone.