We sit at the table, my hand on you
Squeezing your bun, the things that we’ll do
Your juices they flow, I’m starting to drool
Time to let go, I’m loosing my cool
I tear into you, and having my way
Such a delight, with burgers today
This entry was posted by Zardilann on April 7, 2013 at 08:00, and is filed under Poems, Writing.Both comments and pings are currently closed.
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