Genre: Love, Romance, Relationship
Victorians Don’t Pierce Their Septums, Except for Love
by Aaron Schultz
When I first saw you in those light
plaid pants, tight fitting to your form,
my friends wanted to kick your ass. “Where
did this Bozo come from? Let’s waste
him,” they said. But that smell… Your smell…
Strangely attractive, yet beyond my conception.
I called my boys off their conception
and walked towards you, my combat boots suddenly light.
I slammed my PBR, and grabbed your smelly
butt. I couldn’t resist. You didn’t conform,
in style or attitude, with the rest of these waist-
oid punk rockers. You were so punk in your odd wear.
Oh, my pasty, rebel lover… Where
the hell did I put my con(tra)ception?
I misplaced it last night while wasted
and thrashing to punk. I broke the light
with my head, bouncing on the bed. “Bad Form!”
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