Runcorn Moonlit Romance

Through the erotic alleyways of dim set lamppost light, smoky the figure struts on by to catch the last bus of the night. It's gone past eleven, and it's down grim lucks drive, but she'd've danced till dawn swimming in any old dive- Off goes the lady of liquor, toes screeching to be a little quicker, Her blisters cry to green sleeves But she daren't try paddling in hazer's heap. And she is in presence of charm by tweens and men offering her arm. They serenade her beauty in heckled praise: "Your dead fit- give us a gob-job la" and with a hickup she giggles, and coyly flutters her stuck on eyes. Oh the seductive sound of chavs zipper that to her delight moonlight flicker gives a hint to their gift like that of the ripper. She passes by, oh those gentle pricks of enticement- the serenade fading to silence, meeting her backed against the wall. Nervous she presses her dress to her stomach, blushing she takes her other hand seductively pressing it on her lips and down her throat. He grabs her wrist and thrusts his surprise toward it, she bows her head in submission, taking a firm grip- she lurches and twists. "There you go" she legs it.