Our Exgirls
Rodelen Paccial
In the long run,
Our ex-girlfriends will marry the astronauts,
While we wonder,
Which part of “I promise you the stars”,
They didn’t understand.
They will run happily, skimpily naked,
On the white, private beaches
Probably with their kids,
All set to be honor-dressed
At some mere Ivy League school.
Let us toast with the drinking buddies,
In some pub which mice have long abandoned
All set to be honor-dressed
At some merry Ivy’s Legs.
I mean, run happily, skimpily naked,
With private, white bitches
Probably with herpes,
Who understand that “I promise you the stars”,
Meant astronauts in the long run.
While we wonder, where we got the herpes.
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