Whores are void of love.
Though sometimes when the weather is right and random,
and they are foreign enough to formal,
by the push for a saltless spring,
they may fall in.
Swimming that abysmal drain,
lusting now moreover,
to the longing for -in absence of...
While begging in full vent and bloom,
entrance -in- verbatim.
Softening to the fangs of their feet,
to the steeple of their breasts,
to the oily cinders of their crown.
Wetting their lips with the saps of summer,
and droughting their name in the rush for autumn,
new face awaits foul graces of former recesses.
Either way she lays,
she will be fucked.
....you must whip it.
whip it, whip it reeeaaal hard
wither-i, you have done it again. Brilliant, flowing. Liking 'entrance -in- verbatim'. Damngood!