Bedlam and Mayhem In the Mistress Iz Boudoir Post Two

who left trail of heartbroken sage woman commander in chief deliberately stoked, née sparked long simmering smoldering, and stewing long festering white supremacist altercation fiendishly igniting racial conflagration exploding during late spring 2020. No matter no child left behind kibitzing (yours truly as boy plucked petals off daisy reciting "she loves me," "she loves me not"... cupid loosed an arrow into boyhood neighborhood sweetheart she innocently bespoke "I wanna marry you," when uttered courtesy Sherry Jones, a little girl who lived approximately three doors down along cul-de-sac within Apple Valley perpendicular to Lantern Lane, or more age apropos, when young gallivanting purported vestal virgin ladies nonverbally signalled libidinal proclamations of emancipation, as demurely expressed lest unlucky (chaste into) precocious phallic proclivity suffered the punishment of being buried alive. Now back to present day, when our old geezer, the prototype garden variety male of present poem - any resemblance between general referenced fella and living persons purely coincidental. He (yours truly) easily qualified as overly cocky whippersnapper, i.e. young buck and/or Casanova wannabe experienced bit torrent hormonal secretions gushed particularly in close proximity wherein wafted pheromones - think a waif faring ingénue. As evident and quite obvious, I fabricate (prevaricating my signature trademark) rather than stating bland reality stark, yet will plainly explain issue in summary essential rhyme without reason constitutes nothing more spectacular than garden variety generic pockmark excised pustule ofttimes hallmark of teenage/ pubescent pimply benchmark.