We’re All Going to Die
My grandmother,
my rock-of-Gibraltar,
tells me she has lung cancer.
I asked how long do you have?
She said,
Nothing lasts forever, dear, were all going
to die.”
That doesn’t sound too good to me.
Hot sexy afternoon
vanilla burns on your
shapely tan torso
I lick it clean
before it will melt away
taking in and savoring
the thirty-one
flavors of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment