Procrast Locust
Given, that she spoke with a six pound tongue;
My bath rinsed phlegm down sticky the sticky drain.
They use their paws to grasp and noses to smell;
In no order am I aware of which noise interrupted first,
Yet, through sliding doors I watch possum and cat, melodramatic, insist on banquets.
Rancid, putrid and sweet wet lies...Oh! the taste much like fusion!
Given, of course, that she spoke with a six pound tongue.
Copyright © Jonathan Michael Conlon | Year Posted 2014
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