i'm no prophet

. There's no prophesying drooling 'bout mine thought's lips Only What before me Glistering you too see I'm not the prophet From mine eyne's eccentric Into the depths uv your hear Anomalous many they are tempt thrust transcend Amorous though each their thought For From mine lips digits You read mine see "hers spinning in the oak's leaves bedazzling mine draped in her white sweater dress just az sweet az yestermonth crossing mine ready in her pink morning tea pima frock" Her pretty's about to say 'goodnight james' I'm certain she's about to kiss me to shut me up i gave her the frock ;)