by Brian McCloskey
It is far better to be a girl than a boy. I have a memory of the woolly tights and a miniskirt. Do not ride in the vestibule. Your eyelash was an island. Can I play with your monkey? I was unhappy as a child – now I’m happy and growing. That’s how badly we wanted to see him in a dress. Especially with white wool tights. A flowing skirt against stockinged legs, a silk blouse….and it’s very sensual. Yellow lies midway. She was tall and slender with a generous bosom. My nylons were melting down my legs. Various brunettes posing in a catsuit and hosiery on a bed. Metallic sheen everywhere else. The shed door very powerfully tend something original and natural. I will ask you with my eyes to ask again. A thousand lonesome women were approaching. Two kindred kinky spirits (a man and woman) share pantyhose and a consuming search for the sexually evocative. Sometimes when a house dies, it’s an act of sacrifice. You can conveniently change underwear in a matter of seconds. He caresses them (the pantyhose) and compares them to moonlight. The teacher who leaves her shoes on when she showers. I taste number seven. They sing you a silly song about a shark. I created you while I was happy, while I was sad. Hear it I do not. Discount flowers subsided, and I resumed thrusting. You make ashes and create beauty, but can you do anything with pantyhose, Lord? That analogy has bathed me in relief. The Chinese envoy was here but left in his broken hearted pagoda.