by Brian McCloskey
The strawberry isn’t working. These sticky buns are just heaven. Everyone tells you sex is great fun. My sweethearts, let us speak simply of romance. The quality of shoes has decreased. Where’s the bare lady you promised I could see? First you drop an olive and then I sit on my hat. You feel nervous and would like to kiss her but aren’t sure how. We are good at kissing. I wanted her robes to be more erotic. You can’t gain eternity with a cow. I am deeply in love with a certain beautiful girl. I haven’t touched a tree in twenty years. We associate a bunch of red roses with love. A heart can only be given. I use him to hunt moose. He apologises with roses. I adore the feeling of your lips as they brush gently over my skin. The man wouldn’t know a decent grape if it jumped up and bit him on the behind. All I want is a hug at the end of the day. Yesterday I was grass, today I’m milk, tomorrow I’m breakfast. We should be asleep now in one of our many cuddling positions. An orgy of wickedness in which all the instincts are given free rein. Scanty beachwear is best confined to the beach. To write, to fall in love and to experience real passion. I realise just how much love she needs. She has to be pieced, ‘cause she fluffs. There is much for Judith to puzzle over.