My eggs, like small balls,
you're twirling in your hand,
and your bosoms like lanterns
shine to me from afar.
I can't touch them, my belove,
can't stroke them by ma hand.
I'm raped by the Church of God,
by its seventh command.
It is a good rape -
(I know it to the end)
Because it's without shame,
and gives you light and fame.
The stupid ones don't know
(fans of the song Belle)
how good it is for the soul
in purity to remain.
My eggs
© Copyright: Елизавета Судьина, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116031408735
Свидетельство о публикации №116031408735
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