Tuche & Automaton

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Stop It, Smalls, You're Killin' Me

Ather, a hub russet. Robotic Ema.

Euthachian dimples. Real hair

supporting nothing.

Crashing my armada into your ass.

My pandenic fever all over
your drunk touch.

Arbutus. Anisette. So divan. (like the couch)
Joy-sput with possible split
lip. Yours.

- - -

Prague. stupid spammers in the lobby.
Cold room, no balcony.

I'm glad we had this talk.

cockrings. Another sneeze. Holly as
an apostrophe. A decoy. A tiny system
that fits anywhere.

We walk and walk.

I want to fall in love with breakfast again.

Forget about it. What should we buy, beer?

1 Comments:

At 5:55 PM, Blogger ¬°Benjaminista! said...

Cute

 

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