Boy Laughs And Computer Burns

Sunday, August 03, 2003

JULY 2003
I hope not sporadically. I love the way thick sweater tights feel and look. Then white opaque tights were rolled up my legs. The ant that does not fly does not try to fly. Put the stone on the piano. I will probably never know how many little faraway cows it takes to make my husband smile. This territory blows. You are about to start a band. It’s just a song about a turtle. The puppies dream, the hounds superbly snore. And now he’s dead. And here’s your big spoon. The monkeys had the hats. One man would put on pantyhose and masturbate while stroking the hose. Some of them have pictures of breasts. Was yesterday a day? Stand on the porch at night in your underpants. A woodpecker with romance on its mind. Maybe I want to stand right here and look at my wallpaper. I can’t tell you how dead he is right now. You’ve made me all wet and slippery. Silk is for pantyhose. The air closed over her words. Kill and make love in me. And who are you to turn down my meat? But I will kiss you again if you want me to. Well, I know a few raccoons. I want to tell you how we cook our crabs in Brazil. Her soft, bare skin felt like liquid satin. You should come here and feel it on your own veins, because my blood is curdling. Sexy as the syrup flows over her face, her tight, lyrca skirt and over her long, full, dark hair.