I have no any job.
I am a bird. I’m free.
I am in bitchen mob,
And older man loves me.
He has a flaming face,
All bunnies want fuck him.
But only I see space
Of his soul and his dream.
We’ll go at Mardi Gras,
At carnival of tads.
He will take off my bra.
We will be very bads.
He’ll whisper me: “Let’s lay…
I wanna kiss your pie”.
I won’t say “Honey, nay”.
And he will be with me.
If I had any job,
And freedom will be far,
I won’t forget my mob
And older man in car.
The Older Man In The Mob
© Copyright: Юлия Дмитриевна Яворская, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108072001080
Свидетельство о публикации №108072001080
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It was intersting to read your poem, but... is it love?
Олег Ардатов 20.07.2008 11:41 • Заявить о нарушении
Олег Ардатов 20.07.2008 11:41 • Заявить о нарушении