He thinks a thousand beats per minute – agonising, none too shy regret altogether pent on up
One surefire son of a twitching bitch flamed rather haphazardly within
This distraught boy of mine to find again…
If only
Toy like the puppeteering showgirl that you were undeniably born to be to bring his attention back to life
To suddenly so propose to suppose a way on out of here, there, everywhere… please, Susanna
She’s been trying to fair sizably make up this pretty-faced difference of treasured hers
Relinquish these mother hubbard demons who tend to over-divulge to digest atop his brutally surrendered face
When sex sells amidst seriously necessary, permittedly reawakening instances right in time
And he Stands To Attention say when
How very kind of you to do this… when not done for a pretty penny