Skip to main content
Author
Yeh, I know her
Comes from this neighborhood
Guys go bananas
when they see her
the way bees
zero in
on quince blossoms:

Puss, puss,
the forbidden female:
never get enough of that;
sell their own mothers
(they think) to dive
into the puss of voluptas.
But let me tell you,
she's bad news.
Rate this poem
No votes yet
Reviews
No reviews yet.