[All the Fuckboys Therein] a poem

Some weeks later,
some weak laid her

& nostalgia of those days
of fuckboys warmed
in to put her to restlessness

great minds don't fuck alike,
they weep alike,
senseless casuals 
sowing sperm unlearned
in swimming out of circles,

learn to the path to joy,
is to think less of enjoyment.




Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Blotted Etches]