by Brian McCloskey
A parenthesis of infinitesimal brevity. The boy has suspenders. Contemporary good looks, feline grace, terrific tranny, excellent ride quality. I thought that it was snowing. After that, please position the perfect fit for the gusset. These tights are really feminine and show a girlier side to you. Weeks follow each other like books. Then I tied shorter pieces of stocking at irregular intervals along my strands. One could swill Brian's tea. The ravens mock us we float by. Release us from the tyranny of the small! How much more exciting they would have been as tights, no? Before I took you home, I held you like that. This rock is really rain rolling under my eyelids, it's lightning. The horse screams a human voice. In making up a baryon, however, it often seemed necessary to violate this principle. It's brave to dress in drag. And nodding at the nostrums offered by the tongues of the unseen. I'll stick to my stockings and suspender belt. Lost in a cobalt padlock above Detroit. A number of my female colleagues have commented on the fact that I am wearing black tights. His disguise is in female clothes when wielding this. The only effective way to transition my love of dresses from season to season. He is, by any account, a remarkably handsome man. Make no mistake, I'm fond of my bungalow. Wear bright and patterned tights with confidence. The bones do not know each other. I am always lovely. Two men at the final moment of an age most glorious. At other times, sirens in a basket. Sometimes the horse comes out and I can't get past the cow.