I'd give her all the stamps
I'm awarded at the food store
along with my stiff penis,
my great, big hard-on
one gift, complementing, supplementing the other

what's of little worth, of little weight
along with what's life, not at all light
myself and her together
stuck like sugar crystals, cooking

stamps she sticks in booklets
food stores provide, which, when full,
she uses to shop with

when full of me,
she groans, “Oh, God!”
she moans, "Obi, do it to me!"