I have cleaned my reading glasses, the lazy slut needed talking too, the vision before me although blank white is a sight to behold.On my right is a clear glass of Chardonnay from South Eastern Australia the mere droplets have calmed my mind to just trip through the remaining hours awake in a King Canute softness.Such is the trinity melancholy madness Sunday i find on the eve of a new working week a head. I do not really want to think on it, but as the clock rises above sunset, such a mood slips up from the leaf mould to mellow in saffron, a sort of softness to take away the anguish of being buggered by those who control the issue of paper green dragons. I have perhaps two sips more then the glass is empty, do tempt myself to go down to the fridge and sparkle a few more droplets or do i ponder of the delights from a fresh peach i have glanced on my friends page,or do contemplate the art of buggery.
All three laugh at me to float the Poo sticks yes.
One sip more and the glass is empty and will remain empty, the call of the green dragon is powerful and i must be up before the demons scamper under the curtains, to gnash and prostitute myself in all the kamikaze of such wants,needs and the knowing i must provide for the flesh i made in passion all those years ago that thirty second spurt to further mankind. I have no regrets on such an act, but had i known about the world today i would have withdrawn and spurted in the darkness on belly skin flushed down the porcelain god as if such an act was nothing more than swotting flies in the heat of heaving bodies. Youth may be craved in pictures but give them anything else jobs houses and they are mere rust buckets from tired old redundant milking cows.
As for Peaches..i cannot recall the last time i ate one,nor the last time i saw one in a super market in dear old England,they those who own us have decided that the peach is not worth the time or hassle or they have themselves presumed the great unwashed have no time to stand and stare at such a treat as a hairy peach, instead they have thrust upon us the nectarine a smooth skin fruit much the same taste but no furry skin. This is not the first nor the last you can now buy ready made mashed spuds, bags of salad already washed chopped fragmented into a zillion bite size bits, in fact you can now buy a meal with out really seeing what in once looked like in real life from the earth fresh from the leaf mould.
The Peach on my friends page is on a voice download, recorded whilst eaten wearing a skimpy top i have not heard it yet but my mind is playing tricks visions of juice running over nipples,running over quivering skin a pure delight a pure erotic thought that has come free over the air waves to make me want to once more look for furry peaches and think urrmmm gosh and as my old friend who has passed the iron gate to say HA....thank goodness for the humble peach long may supermarkets quiver at such a shadow they have blanked out in the name of profit.
As for buggery well as i quaff my last droplet i sigh at such a thought, thinking on the next time, if at all when my starfish is pushed open and the hard grunting thrusting pushes, deep the smacking of sac on sac,the limp cock of the slut hanging loose whilst the Dom expands energy in bursts fit to burst a camels hump the glory in such an act thoughts dribble on peaches i wonder would it fit.