- The turnabout poem – this utterly nestled, twisted, bleeding mess of a woman with a famed frame to match her acclaimed face
- Touch the two-tonne taste = the wanton weight of her favourite best glass of damndastardly anticipation
- Relinquish these far-pressed feelings, oh please. Spill and instrumentally release your accordion-covered fingernails, finally fair invitingly atop of another man’s shallow asphyxiation
- Only then and now shall that cigarette smoke with its wisps of ultimate warlord replication feel as though heavenly both hellish and borne out from under-beneath the crisply cut surface of
- Another wielded, febrile, fertile working world
- Not one word though, but for the width of his favourite best brain when pressed gently against
- Her story-boarded chest – tattoo-emblazoned and fashioned-from-derelict-fiction, baby!
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