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Phallacy
How oft do mates bang on at length about
the length they’re hung and grab their crotch to slash
the air then chuck an arm at will around
a chum while necking Stella till they’re lashed.
To tell the truth, I’m really not well hung,
and thus I hide from mates my prince’s state,
this conk is king of my poor frame, no trunks
would lunchbox find to bank a lady’s gaze.
And yet I hope the guys won’t feel too down
when I recount my lover’s hardly wimpish –
watch her stiffen over corrrrrs! from louts
who check her out too long (for she’s that fit!).
    In bed, most nights she’ll sigh: O love, I love
    the worldly way you work your subtle touch.