I dated her on & off for a decade.
She wasn’t petite, but she was small,
She was in season in the late fall
When color from the aspens starts to fade.
She wouldn’t blow mine, but I could sure blow hers.
She was as temperamental as the temperature.
She was especially slippery in the showers:
I could lather her up for hours,
And she would wash away with soapy water.
My girlfriend Dolly was chaste as a box of crayons,
And she was as queenly as a royal mustard.
As arm candy, I would take her to St Johns,
Where the vicar told me she looked like Beyoncé.
Afterward, she let me lick her all over covered in custard.
She wouldn’t show me on a map where she was born,
So I never told her my real first name.
We had a relationship of trust & scorn,
She came as early as songbirds in the morn,
And she could flee as fleetingly as celebrity’s fame.
My girlfriend Dolly was a duck in the pond:
She could be monogamous but was also a bit wet on the bottom.
The roots of her hair were sometimes blond,
But her split-ends stretched to the great beyond.
She was all-in-one a John, a whore & a madam.
She wouldn’t blow me, but I could blow her up.
She was as temperamental as chocolate’s temper.
Like an overproduced musical, she flopped,
And last month when I poked her, she popped,
And they don’t make them anymore like her.
Art by Olaf Mary from www.liamgolden.com