by Brian McCloskey
With probing tongues? You used up all my love; now you don’t want me no more. You fall in love because of the need, desperate, to fall in love. I’m tumbling for you in a big way. You touch her on the knee and then start to cry. Tights. Lucky in love, unlucky with fruit. I’m still thinking about the third breast. It’s utterly voluptuous: it’s a beautiful body. My heart is heavy with unexpressed love. She doesn’t live in a bubble: she just can’t eat oranges. Our children were killed in an avalanche. I want to spend the rest of tonight just looking at things. Skin that’s fresh and creamy. Photographs of the vegetable dress. I see some very nice skin out there. Wearing a dress and spouting off about cow flatulence. I am not dumber than the dog. Why don’t women like me? I’m here to tax your large horses. Impossible desires made possible, and a deep, deep love. She is musical by nature; she comes of a musical family. Did anybody touch anybody? Most lesbians think I’m Chinese. I’ve died and gone to Switzerland. Haven’t you got gorgeous hands? I am not paying for frogs. So will he, if you believe the Old Testament. Have you ever stroked a weasel? Now you hear obscene chewing.