Alchemisland

Mood: Great Hunt

Have a hunch the peng wench lunching on me wants me

Also have a bunch of crunchy chronic in my dad’s crombie pocket

I wanna make her mine, cross that friendship divide

But I’m worried about going over the line before it’s time

After a while it’s going fine, we’re both smiling, sipping wine

I take my fast love punt, offering her a sip from my cup

A bit of my lovely chicken drumstick, first removing she eats the skin

Like a sin eater gorging on the meagre meal of old evil

With greasy dullsilver chin, poultry-shined lips and rune-inked hips

She shows me her devotion to Odin.