by Brian McCloskey
What’s wrong with nice, thick, black tights anyway? At the moment of dancing, basically we are not thinking. Erotic photographs of women unlacing corsets or rolling down stockings. I think I have to kill a pig. I hope you never die. Have her come to us in stirring nakedness. So I adore you, you and this that you make. Every one of his poems was about his undying love of pickles. People just really enjoy sex. Find me if you love me. I kissed her now, her mouth, her brow, her eyes. These are my boating analogies. Is the item still with you? You are beautiful and you are alone. Where would I find a beaver that big? And sturdy black tights were considered the height of erotic decadence. These guys have a party every day knees sexy. Your arms are four rivers. I’d like to sleep with Nancy. Putting on a pair of tights. My wife has an inner ear infection. I want to fall asleep holding you tonight. He accidentally fell face first into her capacious breasts. The boy is in the yellow house. I’m throwing rocks tonight. The problem is seeing the fish. Trees are schizophrenic now and beginning to lose control. (it’s the same wind) across your hot, wet breasts. The rabbit got away. I have my bungalow.