Saturday, September 12, 2009

Lonely Sperm Cell To A Desolate Egg

What else can I write about if I can't fornicate under consent of the
        king? How else
can I adjudicate alliances if I am to play this gentlemen only ladies
        forbidden game?
How maledictive, fictive, and irreparably parabolic, kryptonite to my
        superflights.

What else can I sing of if not penance of a swing swinging with
        absent swingers?
Soft as a rosebud, a thorn will overdose, but am I truly to find you
        there? Haa-choo!
Is it you? Careful of the draft, my lady, it's only Saturday, it's not
        okay to die acutely

of sex on a holiday. Who will pay their respects, irrespective of
        salaries? Who will cry
or light a cigarette, or sigh, or fight for Queen Margaret, or furious,
        be daring? Fye.
Me? You ask me? I have not even thought of beginning. I have not
        even been living.

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