Thursday, November 05, 2009

Ceres was a lame goddes






She might have been lame, and crippled,but one thing sure was she aint geographic. And when she is its cause her right in the right place, the wrong yard, the right man! What kind of woman is this? a fluted case of gloves, a silk socking, clever .



Start therefore from the middle not the star. Okay shes rough woof to weed. Or the coughing blaze of body. Baize, say Baise-moi! Fuck me! O yes, around. A crossblanket of touching leaves. She's starboard to the helicopter, rescueing missions and revolutionary hopes. Yes, not pleasures, but the Andres mountains, the riverside glance, the contender of the world boxing class of revolutinonary sexes. What sex is that pray tell? I


_____________Over the green line its bed and roses. Grapes, cheese, and the clandestine bedroom of lilac trim along the wallpaper.


Not everyone comes together in fact coming apart,a part at a time continguous might be better. thus Mona's mouth became the many in the wood's of her lover's fantasm.