Thursday, March 4, 2010
Mountains of Marmalade
Hark! Oh soft squishy flesh fabric,
How I’d squeeze each of thee lightly,
Yet with consistent conviction and determined pressure,
Like a stress ball they used to sell at The Sharper Image,
Before The Sharper Image went out of business,
Because no one needed a glass static ball thingy,
Or a digital talking pen,
Your older friend Sharon seems sweet,
She can watch me grope,
But not Sleazy Ken,
For his chin pubes are rank.
