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ballgames
The kicked bladder spun for miles, Over many cornful spans did fly. I call admiringly across the storms, I fall before the Lords in every lifetime.
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Rites which melt spellcaster’s throats
The clumsy, functional Latin of a hedge magus Enabled me to intone the sable phrases of the incantation. Invitations. Invocations located in henblood-sprayed pages. Lost in the satin sumptuous of her gazegrabbing estrangement Bookback black as a sunchewer’s tongue An addict, her unguents clump my hundred stumps Her emasculating chambers decorated with paintings of hung…
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And now the players
Rainstorms Lear’s spittle-marooning litany drew near Her cakefrosting regard sweetened to searing. Slumping pain deforms love’s generous assumptions. My rear guard the lash-latticed ladder of my so-addled backbones; Deft-stepped orgasm climbs it like a Dibnah in his prime.
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Love which only a witch can give
The lash whip colludes with guilty skin against a ship’s central flue My fast twitch moods Brood with chimp changeability A sky in moody gold deemed too dear in cost for plebians to behold. There are those among us gifted with strange abilities, so I am told. The cold main course of my line-toeing life…
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The eye trader
To cool it down Blowing on her pussy down Like its the mouthpiece of an ocarina Sidepiece looking Xena In armour that couldn’t repel a flea hop Forget ten of the best lopping chops from my bastard sword Swore around a bastard, wore the lesson purple black as long as it lasted When it lashed,…
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