She wished to hell
He'd leave her alone
With his darn pestering;
His thick lips on her shoulder
Making her top damp,
His fingers touching,
What her mother called her bosoms,
With all that whispering
Of his, about if you loved me
You'd let me nonsense;
Oh, she knew his type,
Always the same, the words,
The touches; as if she were
Some darn sow
To be fingered
From market and so.
She shrugged her shoulder,
Wiped her top, and thought
Of the dreamy kiss
Danny Dowizz gave her
The night before,
While all this idjit
Could do was sleep and snore.
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Comments: 7
Good stuff as usual. :)
Of his, about if you loved me
You'd let me nonsense;
wow. me loved this one.