PROSE'

Living on the lamb

Darting through alleyways

of the underbelly

Like Bukowski

searching for

That perfect w***e

The one with blouse open

Showing only

One great breast

He ducks down

Suckles the shriveled brown

The nip apple

Pulls her skirt up

Right there

Pushing his dick in

He moans a time

Or two

"This ain't no competition"

Loses his load

and regains his composure

"Now, on to the next prose"