Blood seeped from the semen of her switchblade c*nt!
Imaginary magical menageries inside the hairs of her agile trunk,
Virginity popped like a punk red luft balloon
As in one prick, gone, whiz, kaboom!!
Now hare free, with no make -up see
Her raven hair looked frazzle free,
She seemed like a well brought up prissy girl,
Dressed up in woollen tweed little boys with Dresden curls.
With a box- cut matching herringbone jacket,
A hand knit pale blue and red sweater to match it.
Tiny, tiny collar around her tiny, tiny frill neck,
Floppy over a full cut velvet trousers in Summer check.
Skin like one hundred percent Max Factor porcelain
Ruby lips in filled with botox and novacain, Penny Lane?
But hidden was a cross bow and arrows and a .22,
Inside the closet of her magical duplex apartment bedroom.
Perched on a magic mushroom monastery
Round like a merry go licorice monstrosity.
Poised to kill men who walked into her pubic crosshair
Maybe wiser to pay the ferryman, or a pieman on the way to a seafare.
She thinks White Rabbits really can’t walk on water,
But Lambs are for bacon, as pigs are for slaughter.
She loves to kick a green hornet and little boy wonder,
And Kama Sutra a once over and a tad under!
So come unto her so salaciously,
As she sells seashells on condition of retail sanctuary!
Dedicated to my dear friend Emily