I have a lot of them pretty clothes;
Short,long or medium skirts.
Shabby,decent or just mere blouses.
Short,long or medium dresses.
But none can compare to my favorite little black dress.

Its neither too short,nor too long.
And I cannot even classify it to be medium.
Its entire length is knitted in black
As it has stitched in white,
A belt that covers the waist.
Its not a very big belt though,
Too little actually.
But I love my favorite little black dress.

It is not because I can wear it to any occasion that I love it;
I can wear it to dinner,
And yet be comfortable enough to select even my favorite musozya to be my meal.
I can dance for the whole night when in it.
I can meet even the scariest of inlaws in it,
And shake the hands of the most respectable people while having its belt clenching my waist.
My favorite little black dress.
I just love it

And it is not because I got my first kiss in it.
Nor is it because I had just taken it off,
When my lover devoured my flesh and took my innocence with him that night.
Leaving my decency to cling only to my skin,
As if it is on my favorite little black dress.

I kicked a ball in it,
As the boys whaled 'goale! Goale! Goale'
Thinking that since I had a dress for a garment,
Then the goal,I would surely miss.
And yet I didn't.
In my favorite little black dress.

That night when I danced with him,
I wore it.
I could tell my father too,
Appreciated how lovely it made me look on this day,
As he led me to the dance floor,
And yet;
I wasn't even the bride.
My favorite little black dress.

He fought back monsters
With his little black book.
He faced his worst fears
With his little black book.
He conquered the world,
His school and its halls,
Fought for rebellion,
Grew ten feet tall.
He walked up to a bear
And slapped its paw.
Even viewed an "R" rated movie
Down at the mall.
Yeah, Johnny sure lived
The life of them all.
And all thanks
To his little black book.
It made mommy buy flowers,
Instead of drugs by the pound.
It made the house peaceful
When his dad was around.
Instead of a fist
It was a bowl of fruit punch.
Instead of a slap
It was ice cream! For lunch!
Life sure was swell
With that little black book.
'Til one day he came home,
It was nowhere to be found.
He panicked with sweat
As he looked all around.
And all that was heard
Was that quiet sound
Of Johnny crying.
Until he came upon
That fearful sight:
His parents laughing
One fearful night.
And in their hand,
A little black book.
Johnny's heart filled with rage
As they turned the next page.
He ran to the door
And out of his cage
He ran and ran through
Thick fields of sage.
He wept and whaled
Like a singer on stage.
Oh wow oh wow it was
The site of the age!
Until Johnny came to a halt.
If he left without it
It would be his fault.
He needed the little black book
And at any cost.
He stormed through the door
And without being caught
Snatched his book.
And when he thought he was clear
In walks daddy
With case full of beer.
But Johnny sees not beer,
But a case full of cheer!
All with the help
Of that little black book.

The way our blazing passions collided was beautiful
Our sparks were caught in an eternal ballad
Each mimicking the ecstatic bursts of the other

But our dance
Turned into a fight

It was a perfect storm
Two scorching typhoons of emotions
Plowing through the paths we once ventured together
Ripping through -and burning -the fields where our souls first touched
Erasing our memories from our hearts

Our fury burned bright
But our ballad remained beautiful
The music of our universes being torn apart whaled
As we both animated our destructions

But somewhere in our scattered souls
Deep inside the ashes of our love
A flame still shine

proscribed extra-curious carnality be gone, begin, become the
exigent immersion of a prescribed insertion, deep genetics
within this drowning pool, drooled and tooled. now cruel
jewel, for this dowsing fool, offer up a different inheritance,
draw wider tracks of innate capture, let mortal culpability
sail white whaled, high tailed, to a communal land of
neutral precept not constrained by dictate neuter. one click,
**** temptation, flavoured Russian,  *** Asian. first though
herbal, fruitful,  extension. such friendship investment, one
****-k sensation, new phone, who phone, ***** moan,
iFone©, fear & gear. solutions are here, hear? with 1 or
more I full, sim-pull, sinful maybe? snout deep, cracked
badger’s honey kink, snake in ‘n’ baking ‘n’ shaken sac,
quick, whip crack a flay, today? the way you wear those
ankles so well that far back, a la mode, cherry high pie
and cream, no sweet reluctance of bristling itch, searching
eye ******* incontinent twitch from mondo trespassed
hush-pushed niche.

That rag doll looked up and smiled,
freshly unwrapped
with button eyes shining;
mother looked down on her and said:
"The noise is nothing, rest your head and sleep now child."

As night fell  toy soldiers  stumbled in with glee,
they tossed the poor doll  to the side,
torn by her threads.
A doll can't flee.

The sun grew high,
her tattered dress snared,
and the poor doll bumped her  head.
She cried and whaled to the stars, but none of them cared.

knotted, and worn,
her yarn hair grew wild
The doll sought nothing more than bread,
but spoiled fruit was all the tin men held.

Used up, the ragdoll fell into the fire.
her buttons dust, and mother dead
lost in a sea of the liars.

She held me so tightly for thirty eternal minutes
Without pause she whaled and screamed for her dead son, my best friend
My shape was the same as his, maybe my smell
Did she think I was him?
She tightened her grip sobbing and crying
I felt the water of her tears soak through to my skin
The longest half hour of my life

dusk
.
.
.
and the
hills exorcise a succubus
the eagle sitting at the round table
is tired of shadows

and mere me mortal
are your sister, lover, mother and the fool
telling
tales

the lippy tear licking succubus
spreads
her jaw
down into a quick release deceive

the eagle
flowers into a soar
whaled-jaw filled with hunting shadows

and
we all know concrete and hands expiring

the precious
exodus and return
the grow up mantra
when beauty is full and death is far

the
power womb
to renounce and rejoice

my
heart is not right
my mind
is finger spilled contradiction
my senses
entertain darkness
my purpose
is to marry the wretch to the fragrant

no vanity

conflict
knocks…

I'm a wandering wanderer wandering through windy winding ways
Where every constraining concept Causes
Pure panic packing pain

For what or why you whisper
Are the utterances undertaken
And I feel your consternation
Construing certain captivation

So I must lastly leave you lonely
Before the tides turn to tale
I will pitily part presently
Before I am wildly whisked and whaled

A bowl of cherries sits protruding on the dentist's chair as he skitters over to the female specimen of uncertain origin.
" the fruit flies ate your mother like a little ******"
"Why, with angel dust I frolicking now?" She says as she gesticulates with her pointer toes.
"No mam, this is cancer"  and the tongue squirts juice in her salty eye.  
Her crotch turns gangrenous and the dwarf behind the counter lays 2 rotten eggs in a cupboard.
"What was the point of lying" said the doctor
"I'm not sure" says feminine monstrosity, but the beach whaled for them..I took out a salary and billed my little girl 26 hens by my sad eyed mouse. 2 butchers took the heart, we rested by doves and the dwarf laughed furious. God loves his children.😈