My Cur

My cur
Makes me think of pastel ribbons
Whipping bout the maypole
And sheaths of grey chiffon
Tiptoe
Mist on the apt. clubhouse
My dimrell *~yogurt cup~*
Stinks of hot cottony musk

She takes me places
Lowes, Kallispell
I took her to the dump
To teach her a lesson

Feed me my porkwine
The fleshard inner of peppermint
Draw the curtains with a naughty twirl
Do, fetch the hand towelette

Steps in the wet sand on purpose
She knows how to mystify
The sea glass,
Etiolated bisque
When i put it in her tiny hand

In an economy of need
In an economy of need
In an economy of need
I collect the trash

My curs
Ride woman A's face
I pinch her by the chin
Bob for apples, udders slide

My curs
Ride woman B's face
I pinch her by the chin
Bob for apples, udders slide

I like nothing greater
Than to turn a girl beet red
But I cradle her head
when i nab her with the gentle tongs

i like nothing greater than to
nab her with the gentle tongs

she is my suckling pig
when i put it in her tiny head

she is my doggie bag
when i put it in her tiny head

In an economy of need
I collect the trash
In an economy of need
I collect the trash