Dry

Those dried girls
who simpered
and twirled
while wanting to suck at
the fountain of youth
I once had.
We called it
passion
But
that was only mine
because I wanted
them
in all spurting glory.
And
all they seemed to
want
was me
trapped somewhere
within
bosom
made safe
spent
broken
and
defeated
as all warriors without
a passion to rail against
end.

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