The Washing Machine
The Washing Machine
Trembling, writhing in pleasure!
Upon which arouses without measure,
As it was, as it were,
The washing machine, upon which sits thy mother!
Behold! A sight unforetold!
This is no jest.
Do not fret, lest
you forget, that she hath needs of her own.
Tis be best to forget, bleach thou minds eye of what art known,
seeing as thou an adult, fully grown.
Run away! As what witnessed, to thou, thine eyes doth shewed and shown
What was witnessed upon that vibrating throne,
the screams of your mother on that pleasurable chrome!
Tis a tragedy, especially in thou home.
02/23/2023
Copyright © John Arthur | Year Posted 2023
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