The time, thunder, the tumult of the lopsided situ – a sitting pretty, honorary little asphyxiation wears her favourite best legs-eleven

Sexually, gently suppressed into wrought-iron wearing masculine-pink to introduce the man-over-matter

All of the meandering men walking, needing, needling… avidly sprinting in their conversational droves upperward towards…

Her discretionary direction- only minus the cop-on, the instantaneous wherewithal, to act forbiddingly natural

Just as she asked them to do… since the begging beginning

With a boomerang in her d###hand, she asks for all of the manners back