It would be nice to dream of big cocks big breasts or simple sailing ships rather than the repeat button being constantly on,however today is my own personal Trinity Sunday and all such dreams will sail away,i can feel my hobnailed pink ribbons brushing away whilst i sit here playing with words.
If there can be a nice melancholy then i am in the curly leaf wood nymph,the more winter creeps away the urge to masturbate in wild abandon grows,on my travels this past week on some dirt track i spotted perfectly formed stinging nettles,so baby so tiny it was quite a shock to see them clung hugging the ground,i was in awe i stopped lingered for a short while until the ticking clock spoke louder than the urge to masturbate in pain. Nettles as a child were plants to avoid once stung the race for the old dock leaf rubbed to try and ease the sting which burnt as fire in the mind more than the pain on the skin.
Old age has now drawn erotic drifts, the stinging plant stings past spring in to summers bizarre ravishing rebellious movement away from the bah of sheep. The old tart is beginning to smell spring summer also she is banging in my mind the few things i bought over winter she knows about and is not contented to see them simply in their brown envelopes, "never mind nettles dress me you old fool "...arrhh i sigh it will be done patience my old tart, the swallowing of seed in early January has perhaps worn off typical slut now wants more. There is no rest for the wicked perhaps so.
