Nude blue brogues
Laced rather fittingly
Supposedly so this pretty picture holds her very own scripture
About to be told
High-heeled to secret oblivion
He peers on over
Seems when we win we really do win These all too sprightly ice-cream in the summertime white legs Goose-pumped to within a glacial inch
Paler than anything any one man can ever really let himself imagine
A tragedy to not get to behold these particular legs-eleven Falling fair antagonising from a hot pants of her own dastardly choice
And then he awoke from his favourite daydream
Forever able to see all of nothing Swallow the air
Lift your legs
Walk on over
Barely sober
And let yourself fondle her brunette and beautiful dreadlocked hair

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