When the Skirt, for Once, is Held Up

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There is no alternative. This, in any case, is
Not a case for face-saving democracy.
In carnality her desire doesn’t matter or count.
Like a mountain peak she holds, and Hillary
Should either mount; or not mount.

The nurones hum in a moment at crossroads
Where the traffic flows in directions
Lost to the compass. All that you always
Wanted across hours and the itch which, to satiate,
No powers were given your sequenceless lovers.

There is no time for the time, as it is,
Is ripe. Think not twice
For that twice is too late. The emotion
Flowers but once an eternity
And another eternity at the edge of masturbate.



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