rolling back layers always produces an arch, like when an orange is made bare, like when 60 leaves is made to become 59, like when her spine projects her face north and guards are let down. wikipedia says an arch may or may not support load but my junk in her trunk proves otherwise, an arch may indeed support load. and so i blow one so hard and so deep between her thighs the very fabric of the universe is torn to shreds and in a moment the pulsing of my hard dick makes contact with a world unforeseen, he lets go and he feels at home.

tear back the hands of the clock yet the sand in the hourglass continues to fall. reality begs continuity and if she keeps walking around the house in that gown its only going to be a matter of time till she’s hanging by the very threads that hold her fabric together. threads attached to a steel beam so she cant run away, justice requires judgement and the jury is unanimous in its verdict, guilty. when they rise to read the sentence her shaking legs on the bed wait for the words on the sheet to be said aloud and the jury fills her body up till she screams and shouts.

the wheels on the bus go round and round, still the physics of the world is the only thing that sings aloud. where rubber meets road there’s friction involved so i take mine off cause this ocean is slippery and at the count of five ill drown. my body spasms when i go in, cold water has a shocking effect but this place is warm so why the fuck am i vibrating when i jump. carbon polymers make the tyres black and so i take mine for a spin and this pink land makes it hard for me to pass without a fee so i pay my debts at the toll with the currency of old, yes you held me hostage but i do not negotiate with terrorists so ill blow this place up before you become aware that you are a victim. the currency is war and the clear ocean skin with deep pink tones as you go deeper becomes a battleground for my battlecry, i will not lose.

she wants me, and i want her too.