Empty Spaces Begging Fulfillment

Can’t find the substance
To kill the vacant, waiting space.
What.
A.
Whore.
“Fill me! Stuff me full!”
She begs, craves.
Give her what she wants.
Violate the empty channels,
obscene black strokes
fighting for space.
Needy whimpers scrape
at aroused illusions that languidly
curl, jerkily thrust along
narrow sin soaked corridors.
Gushing, squirting
Oil slicks of impassioned gibberish
seep into the
milking pathways.