Rectangles

Many a day she played with my rectangles.
Wishing to pick them up,
And lay them upon her breasts.
She said they supplied her with energy.
To me they were perfect angles...
I made into rectangles.

Many a day she played with my rectangles.
And asked if I would make her a few.
They weren't made out of plastic,
Or of anything that would last.
They were just rectangles I drew on paper...
Whenever I was bored,
And wishing for her ass to grasp!

I told her that!
And she would laugh and laugh.
They were just rectangles.
And before she touched them...
They were headed for the trash!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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