Bad Love Poem #652
Last Cinco de Mayo,
we didn't need no
supermoon shining on us
for me to pop your pinata
and then pass my Corona,
(after a stellar coronal mass ejection),
and quench your lips dry from tortilla chips
and cock.
This Cinco de Mayo
you got yourself burritoed
by another who you said
liked the way you salsa
more than me.
Happy freakin' Stinko de Bye-bye-o to you.
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