I have a stomach summit,
An abdominal alley,
A gut gulch, a paunch pouch,
A beneath-the-vest valley,
A digester dugout,
A taut torso trench,
But she said “Belly-Button”
So I dumped the wench.
Within the next 26.07 fortnights
My predominant aspiration
Is to perpetuate the convention
Of heightened lexicon inflation.
Be not perturbed if reading this
Is an arduous endeavor:
Aspirations are ephemeral whilst
Prose-prevarication is forever.
Next year my goal
Is to learn new words
But I’m also lazy
And learning’s for the birds.
Me like words with lotsa letter
But me like to sleep-in better.
It seems every woman I meet
Is a gold digger of sorts,
Or else too young to engage
As romantically-inclined cohorts.
I’m not the sort of man who’s oft
Accused or called a whiner
But for once I want to meet a gal
Who’s not a miner or a minor.