"crotches" poems - Hello Poetry

Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys: She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank, Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it. In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon, Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men. Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile, Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank. I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my prick. With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper! We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits. Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them. Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies. We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds, Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles. Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”. In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze, I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier, Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls. “You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped. The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board. Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate. I will over one’s dead body evacuate.

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Mar 22, 2010

Mar 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC

irma-cerrutti

San Francisco

Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys: She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank, Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it. In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon, Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men. Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile, Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank. I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my prick. With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper! We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits. Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them. Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies. We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds, Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles. Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”. In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze, I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier, Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls. “You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped. The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board. Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate. I will over one’s dead body evacuate.