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Poetry

A dirty and filthy man

He was dirty man.

A dirty and filthy man. Dirty and filthy.

But a clean man, physically speaking, with an unblemished physiognomy. His chiseled frame did in fact excite the opposite but not just the opposite sex his own sex lusted after this dirty this filthy man. He was meticulous and fastidious when it came to hygiene. Never did a smell roil that structure. He was a spotless man. But with a metaphysically dirty and filth mind.

Impelled by his dirty and his filthy mind he spent many hours in the local laundromat.

Filthy underwear. Smeared lingerie. Soiled knickers. Dirty underclothing.

Until one day she mistook him for her laundry. She folded him up and placed him into her wooden basket. He liked her soft hands, and he liked the way she handled him, and he liked the smell that emanated from her body, and he liked the feeling that something good would happen and so he didn’t complain about being folded up and placed in the wooden basket.  

Carl Van Detta

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