Clock app, I chime well.
The sheets are slithery crevices
Satin-lined, with serpent tongue poised to strike,
It is a meeting of the soul,
A shaft of light
Through cathedrals of stained glass.
Where you are safe,
There are no family heirlooms,
No dinner on the table, no lies.
Suave virile hips, the smirk of men
Glaze at her smoke
And I, in my honeyed plume,
Milk a gallon of amphibian seed.
The roar of angst I swallow toads ~
Meat and three vege, a staple,
The ‘Elixir of Life’.
My mouth gags,
The mouth of Mary
When my accelerator touches the pan.
The giggle of my
Plastic features, my way of arching
John’s to rigors of trapeze
Lays on the charm, a gasp.
And it goes on and on, and on.
I shall remain a nymph. Old muscles
Strain like a bough and I
Blush like Betty Boop
All the sighs of winter, fall
Offering up last seasons rosella
Tea to read.
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