Monday

this way step right down


In the library or brothel she grabs his cd. Holds it tihgt, a corkscew to her cunting. THis way the land of transcendent fuck disappears to the real sweaty onee of tears. Twisted by things like this, it can't be seen she's love glamour or paramour, but a paladin's the horse she rides, her ostler's a glove maker in his spare time glancing at woman between the thighs of buttocks. What lover is this crumbling down the masonry stairway?



Over the afternoon she has bearings bringing her back, it's neither here nor there, but she works. The avenue's catchy in its breathiness and lust ridden in its commonplaceness.