Regression ****** in anger hangs on hangers, frogs laid outwardly,
on platters, fascinate frog-fanciers who fancy laid-out frog wangers*

   She slapped me in my donuts &
touched them inappropriately too.
   Look where the bird got me! He got me on the leg. He was
aiming for my face. Thank God I hid my face behind my leg.
   The sun shines upon the ungrateful, rain waters the
crops of the spiteful, God’s love flourishes in camps.
   A rousing specimen, she promises she can’t stop. An enamored *** = she assures me she’s coated. A wayward type, she’s not heading out. I have nothing if not trust with a certain amount of bluff & buffoonery in every romance. *Ahhhh, to be young & in prison: the discipline, the regulation meals, the kinship, the kithship, the nights never lonely & on guard, lactobacillus acidophilus, kidneys on the go, coeurs d’artichauts, checks w/o images...
   An arousing prelude to ****** periods in lunar anguish
comes a cycle four-by-seven. The sun she shines as
we are in target, burning our shaven zones *mucho.