( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
he guides my hand down to his footlong meat
his beef stake, then to his meatballs
i can smell it now
sweat and desire
"subway p-papa not here, not now"
the customer just stares
they order a footlong meatball sub
subway papa turns around, his footlong in clear view, his brown eyes glaring into theirs
"subway papa- i could never"
he places his meat scepter into their warm hands
he reaches his climax
"that'll be $5.50"
YOU ARE READING
Wandering Into the Mind
Poetrythese are just random poems i make while i'm bored - some may not be recommended for younger people