Those tiny moths

old man.Me, bearing flowers,chaperoned byone sweet niece,‘to show the ropes’to me, the stranger.And water things.You, in the groundsince that cold dayin March,with snowstill in the hills.Your hillswhere you meandered,chased after thatpsychopathic dog,while reminiscingover notableadvantages,most imagined,of long-gone days.And of this,the new world,made entirelyfor others.Yet, you took pridein always doingyour bestin any circumstance.‘Some day,you said,I’ll be six…

Insatiable, keen to play?Let me correct you if I may.If you were satisfied with oneand never tired of the funyou would not need to have a clonebecause you’d be a monotone.If eyes and senses God had givenyou would be active, even driven.With so much beauty all around,you think of it, the pubic moundand two soft…

he had someone write wordsand went back to his turdsno one figured that Boomann was human.And this hobo was mucking abouthe had nothing to utter out loudall his teachers were wiseand the sermons gave riseto a filthy ole juggernaut.

The monster was quite well equippeduntil the his concentration slipped.It spelled the end to saurus sex.So now you too know why they diedthis monster’s hairy partner cried,refused all offers due to griefand glued a big acacia leafbetween her legs, so as to hidea target for the youngster maleswho’d stand around and tell their talesthen tried…

like a small child,in the fetal position,Mother, I am afraidthis isn’t you, is it?I have many,well thousandsof memories,none,or rather few have faded,vivid is what I would callthe others,three dimensional,full of the colour that once was,always has been,you,my Mother.From the beginningwhen I looked at you,as you,smiling with anticipation,would come into the room,ready to take careof all…

Prepared for any stalwart raidOr beckoning allure.Interior slick and very warmCaressing every side,Accepts entire shape and formA welcome room to hide.Nestled deep within its foldRespite may here be found,Or steamy moves of someone bold,Stretch bound’ries top to mound.The heated fellow, should he comeHe will be welcomed there,My envelope begins to humIn silent joyful prayer.©2008 by…