In her grasp, I am clouded with confusion and dubiety, for she speaks mildly but with forked tongue. Her lavishness and kindness captured my vision and heart at our first foregathering. She holds my heart in her cold hands, and does so with careless regard. She nestled her unfermented concern like a farmer’s water pump, my devotion persists like a mountain stream, and my arousal flows freely. She enjoys keeping me in the shadows always wondering her next footmark to come, her abysmal joy in my tortur’d heart doth lie. From her burnished throne, she manipulates my every incite, watching my hapless reactions.
-Johnny V.
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