| | Posted on Fri Dec 09, 2005 06:38:41 | |
| | I cannot fathom, Gellius,
Why your ruby lips grow
Whiter than the winter snow
When you wake up or rise
From your eight-oclock snooze
On a lingering day.
Must be a reason for it:
Perhaps it is true,
The whispers I hear that
You feast on the tumescence
Of men's laps?
Must be so:
Pitiful little Victor's
Empty nuts and
Your cum-stained lips
Shout it to the heavens. | |
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