Pretty Princess in Pink, thankfully without the yeast and her unpleasant feminine odor of an egg-yolk Feast,
Listening to Judas Priest =)
So she does not Stink, but she sticks to the pesky Fly, and Strip her long dress, with we, and her female-ness the its monthly mess!
And along the way she only craves the graves of her ancestors, and her long-lost sister
Oh please, Mister, Mister, I missed her in the constellations of the Little Dipper with a sultry stripper
Of the paint, and this is what she ain’t — gonna spread her legs to the left and to the right… Tonight
French Royalty, I may be, making many Invested Investments in white shirts and big chests hoarding fortunes in savored Graces
And necklaces — the Jews and the jewelry at Kay’s Factory Warehouse, a trap catching the bloodshot eyes of a pink-eyed mouse
(remember? …2 in the Pink?) royal dress and sweats or thigh-highs to the highest heights of her bosoms,
Oh the tombs and stones… on the Royal Throne, she’s in the King’s proverbial “Zone” to hone
Crossbones cutting cut palaces albeit with Toe-sie “Callouses” in need of Dr. Scholls on them old Tombstones
And cometh quite frequently, the pink in the stink, it’s Absence-ey with the Maitre-de in a treehouse
The dead mouse coughed its last couple coughs., begging for life, maybe with a Lucy wife, it’s a male…
With a Delivery for you and me, we shall see, of a newborn baby Barbie “oh what a Dali-Llama”
Want some more ‘ah’ this ??? As I makes a fist to cause a painful insurgence, intrudence Intruder
I am some amplitude of the tried ’n’ true with the favorite color being Pacific Ocean Blue
Balls in the halls of a Palace Audience of awful audacity — so Audacious the Pitbull Player of billiards- Pool
Gone to school, gone for the day learning of morsels in Toyota Tercels, like Mom had a red one, standard
In the armpits’ pit-stops and Go! To and Fro from Santa Claws with long nails scratches on backs,
Fools on Roofs on the tree-tops of houses, and roots on Daffodils, we have our fills of chocolate fillings
For the teeth I bequeath uneath’d eating a chicken patty, my special brain is all batty, with the batters up
Wearing a testicles’ ‘Cup” the catcher I will match her in softball, and shaved in the shower at this hour
Shoulders with straps, of the backpacks loaded with a snack, a Brunch, and a PB&J lunch atop a Tower
Of records and recordings, so tired after the court-date with a dead golden mate of the crash, tipsy Trashed
Take a taxi and stop at the mall to pee, to leak, for the hundredth time this week, oh the strength of my
Length at 7 inches, my nipples like your gentle pinches of Tulips surrounding the source of life, for my wife!
Poesy translation and masturbation — this writing, is my life !!!