In a sex shop lit like a nebula’s womb,
A hooded buyer drifts through the velvet gloom.
He whispers, “I seek a vulva, but not just any—
Make it pug-shaped, with eyes uncanny.”
The clerk, a prophet in mesh and chrome,
Unrolls a catalog like a sacred holy tome.
“Midnight Sun,” he says, “our finest breed—
Silicone beast for your mythic need.”
It pants in silence, its tail a curl,
A latex relic from a stranger world.
The buyer nods, pays in crypto dust,
And fades into fog, desire, sex and lust.
The pug remains, a toy fetish star,
A barking muse in a glassy jar.
Where longing howls and satire sings,
And pleasure wears the strangest wings.
Midnight Sun and the Latex Pug
© Copyright: Руслан Трохнюк, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125102407562
Свидетельство о публикации №125102407562
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