bichoose (bichoose) wrote,
bichoose
bichoose

Saturday 1st March 2014.

Oooooo Yippie Yip…now to take my panties off, to wave them in the sky…slip my Bra off..sigh as the worst two months of the year have passed into the dust bound History books in the sky..to whisper March as indeed a march down the road without worrying about the Winter Goblins clawing over my back sucking my soul with each rain drop that pisses from the sky….yes i know March can be a bastard also, for outdoor workers, shoulders to the wheel, frothing at the mouth whilst alligators crunch on Enid Blyton's ' Five at Treasure Island '…..stuffed in my souls pocket…a book i read as a child which even after 50 years floats through all the adult baggage i carry around in this wrinkled old body should i shower with my eyes closed rather than go…oooo another Red Goblin creeping up my leg, best put some dark stockings on perhaps they might melt away or gather storm as i begin to dwell on pension age…crashing around the corner the cum bucket is becoming rather full fire engines roar as i today welcome in March.
I am also at the end of a weeks leave from the saddle of work..Am i looking forward to Monday should i say bar humbug or perhaps think of life in flight tickets to some glory hole where hotness for my sort dribbles in froth, steam, and Enid Blyton books, where chocolate biscuits melt even on the plate as thoughts about heaviness remain fluent as pass the parcel, as dildo's slip into champagne super nova's and chips covered in salt are simply chips eaten once on out of date newspapers which sometimes, as they should,a nice rest from the media making money out of fear…..a time to go Poo over their words as the salt eats into the soul spawning thoughts along the lines of pink jelly babies which i happen to like, another throw back from youth days where i pushed my face in ladies clothes shop windows i wondered why back then, today i smile someone has to be a transvestite or the world would stop get off and rock a billy in a jerky patten down moon lit cobbled streets where buxom Bras fitted on cut off silent manikins starred out oblivious to a teen staring past the bright lights hearing whispers of buy me if you dare my pockets were empty back then or else…sssshhh….the whispers still remain and the red goblins continue to crawl up my legs as i welcome MARCH…….so goeth…for old Hugh...
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