I would decline.

He’s singing
About the shortcuts
To my veins

I ain’t no cracked shell
To cushion your fall.

I won’t miss you when you’re dead.

Hands all in
Don’t play with me

Should we skip straight to the nonvirginal verse
The alternate version
Hardcore perversion

Slice it like a banana,
And split the slender bits.

Nuh-uh, baby,
I don’t wanna see that
You creepin’ up behind me
Like a slinky-dinky

Run races with scissors.
Take risks —
Not prisoners.

He lets you know
When to shut up
And just start singing.
You lost your nascent wings;
Zemblanity’s still stinging.

I won’t wait on you
Hand and foot;
I’ll leave that to another gal
Who’s “just misunderstood.”

I came close enough
To lick Mic’s head,
But shied away from
The dreaded feedback…

Her life flashed
Before their eyes
To judge

On off-the-wagon
Of steel teeth still
From the night before

Use more elbow grease,
Old squeeze,
To box in the festering fleas.

Bet she runs hot
To the touch
Not so much
(Not a thought
Just a hunch)

Traded pink cotton candy
For saltwater taffy reveries.
Endured emotional battery
(Slattery so fine,
You’d think he’d paid
Half the fee).

Smoker-cough hack,
But she’s got a nice rack;
Her ass:
A perfect place
To hang your hat.

How’s about a vein to suck
before the IV’d hag collapses?
Didn’t even get to pop the question, or bubble-wrap pre-packaged flesh yet.

Virile killjoys grasp
the gasp of youth
mewling drooling
dewy dainty dimpled
juvenescent jail bait
too thirsty to slake

Not for me to decide
if she tastes mighty fine
crisscross the cost
the cause will unbind
ringer tan lines
rigged trigger rewinds
it figures in rhyme