[big baby]

(Pancakes sister), is a handmade fixture, made on a canvass. Tincture pecks the buds from the ashtray litter. a landscape. a focal point backdrop to the cascade picture. the open void jackpot for when the lampshade flickers. She's got hair of amber fiber lash, pupil virus, to the shade of the brighest black. a stare like a viper. Dancers' eyes in fact. I see a ballerinas ballroom in the reflection of her iris. I dream of taking baths in the galleria of her sideburns. grass dripping. Primus. Fire, like a cats whisker, tiger.

I'm just trapped in her follicle thatch. It's such a unsolvable miracle. it's Zeus making gods halo, weaving her locks like a seamstress allusion. making blond angels in that bleached bed of beauty.

I'd Beat her with all of my belts, it's like ether, it's as ungodly as hell, the way I eat her with all of myself. I use two fingers as teasers, then her tweeter turns into the seashore. When my cock smothers flavor, it's obsessive. When I calm her down, holding her clench fisting, like it was rock covers paper. Intense licking. I'm her monster. That you love to hate. Momentum and mesh. The crescendo extends, till she can't remember the rest, like memento and ent. I adore the smell of flesh speaking english, through a series of french kissing. This is the omega, where my bustling sex tickles have the potential that was meant to give her 500 more percent with her neck tingling. I wrote in perfect font, I planted roots in her. autographed cursive spanish, like braille on her goosepimples