the couch
this couch upon which lust hath spilt,
he asked me, “do you need a couch?”
because he was moving,
giving his away,
but one look at the couch and i knew i did not,
i did not need this couch.
twas the dirtied sort of couch,
reminiscent of dirtied rooms
wherein bodies doth squat in sloth,
fluids and foul are spilt, rumps plotted,
and smoke is insinuated,
day after day after day after day,
until every fibrous square inch of the couch
has come to be stained in one way or another.
nay, say I, i do not need such couch
for such couch do I most already own!