Sounds lecherous with a sweeping tongue
and puckered lips eager with an odour
of spent lust and errant tobacco
flakes plucked by a pinched thumb and fore
finger inspected flicked haphazard
like a pubic hair when you’re done
happy-go-lucky loose change jingling
in a cotton pocket with no holes yet but
burning like the Crackling Rose bubbling
in your gullet filling you with dutch courage
thickening first then thinning as it leaks
away staining a spot by your fly half zipped
Writing Bites 
I think I know what this is about, but I don’t want to say in case I’m wrong and it just exposes me for the sad, dirty old man that I am. Fun wordage though! 😀
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Well, my poet friend, you’re probably right. I’m starting a new project based on using a word a day to write a poem. The word “spondulicks” just made me think of a flophouse for some reason and spending money on – ahem – pleasure.
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Seems I was – ahem – correct! 😛
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