Guzzling Whore

Don't worry, cookie. I won't eat you. Unless you ask, but I doubt you will. With Sanguine intentions, We toss and tumble, Laughing with grass Stained khaki's. This is bliss. Across the Rolling hills of Our private desires. Your key barely Fits anymore, but That's okay because I can't be your Door anymore. Remember? I stand On the Corner. With fishnet Stocking, a cigarette And a mini-skirt. You dare to Cross me so I've become what You've wanted. Now burn, Lover.