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| My wetness, my throbsome, my Shaniece. My beautiful compost heap. Consume me with your heat. Let us rot together. We should get to the point. My love is like my back lawn. It just grows and grows. It will never be cut down. My lolling tongue laments its lack of use, my lolly. Your tauntingly teasing titbits trouble my tortured tailings. I long to peruse your pink bits. Lipidly I long for your lovely lashings of love. My pits, my possum, are perilously primed. I am expired and limp with longing. Heed my call! |
