My Poem Alfresco Essay Research Paper I

My Poem: Alfresco Essay, Research Paper I made my way: my awkward manner-mode, a tight-step-stomp with style, to the semi-soul of Montreal’s sex district of masquerading mega-sluts and lacquered lust-lips: larcenous ladies with ferocious furs and tame pussies;

My Poem: Alfresco Essay, Research Paper

I made my way:

my awkward manner-mode, a tight-step-stomp with style, to the semi-soul of Montreal’s sex district of masquerading mega-sluts and lacquered lust-lips: larcenous ladies with ferocious furs and tame pussies;

I made my way:

my daring duck-limp lap, down damp streets in the demi-daylight, drunk on mesc-meth-morphine-Mace casually concocted by chalked-up catholic kids on the south-side of Berri-station; where

I made my way:

my pathetic patter past lackadaisical pigs at the pantry, lackey patrollers, palms pulsating with pistol power: the flounce on a frame of a fantastic picturesque paranoid fix;

I made my way:

my gross falsetto-fandango, to a basement of underground gourmand girls with Gibson guitars factiously falling forward *censored*ing around faking facility facetiously flirting with flung limbs and open legs;

I made my way:

my dainty double-hump-decoy, from the gawking doylt of dolled-up daddy demos crushing on the curves covered carelessly by dripping dresses daubed with hard-core lambasting, lacerated from hard-core pumping: a puerile-putsch of fast hands fingering Fender frets and stroking luscious Squier Stratocasters;

I made my way:

my patent-leather toe-tap gallop, towards guitars-girls-guitars, live! open air orgy of orotund sounds squeezed sacredly from gushing amps in amorous anarchist passion: glorious gluttonous riffs-reverb-feedback *censored*ing sharps-flats feeling up the *censored*-friendly-father’s tinnitus-engaged instinct to curl up and convulse;

I made my way:

my narcotic fat-finger-fantasy, frontward, to the underside of the outside, until shins sat flat-straight-skewed, plastered palm choking a Champlain, cloudy semen-style, on a sleeping Strat. guitar goddess-backside with cameras and cracked-out crowds conversing curiously; quietly

I made my way:

my anxious allegro-instep, alert asphyxiation-eyes inspecting my passive penis and hand pulling up pants paternalistically while passe female figurine passers by etched the event with emphatic eyes, as I (ignoring-forgetting-neglecting my cock) caught it kosherly in my kleptomanic, radiantly ripping red, khakis-zipper.

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