His Love Was Like Tacos


His Love Was Like Tacos


He made love

like he made tacos


with his pants shelled down

above his ankles, a little jar strapped

to the side of his ass meant to hold tips in,


and a glob of store bought guacamole

non-competently served on the side

like green lube


His love was like tacos

and his tacos were below average looking

and the lettuce smelled like yesterday’s ashtrays

and the shredded cheese smelled like pictures

of his old college roommates crotch


and the hot sauce was no longer interested

in being his emergency contact

and the tomatoes never deserved her


because her love was a highly-evolved-canvassed photo

which accurately channeled the magic

of stuff like horror movies and Selma Hayek dance moves

in From Dusk Till Dawn

and owned its own gummy ring bar

and shit


but his love was like tacos and his tacos had

an ass that had ass hair that looked like the bottom of a taco

wearing a couple of cheap toupees


his tacos were hairy and balding

all at the same time

like everything’s hairy and balding

at times maybe

but that doesn’t side-shuck the fact

that his love was like tacos

and his tacos weren’t worthy

his tacos dodged the draft

at Armageddon


his tacos


at everything


his tacos were lame

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