you’re a filthy son of a bitch

you’re a filthy son of a bitch
but if you prepared me a tub of your filth
i’d bathe in it

your hair can grow in such unpleasant areas
but i would much rather tape my eyes open for it
than look where you’re not present

peanut butter makes me want to puke
but i would eat it from your mouth
if it means i get to kiss you

i’ve once lingered on a god for his surfer-like golden skin
but i would lotion myself in your oily sweat
as long as you’d let me embrace you.

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