Every groove wall she camps.
Her halotry is our solitary.
The solitude of her solitary.
So she harmonise the street.
Were her customers lay wait.
Her red lips porch men's mind's.
Wine he waist.
Her breast stood pun.
Fresh and smooth.
Her cloths sown to the fashion unknown.
Her tailor an apparition of your vision.
She uses soot to make her skins glow.
I was drunk when she suited herself on me.
While i dreamt'' i fell into a loss abysmal darkness.
By:
Beryl Rem
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