And it is coming round Like the pointed arms Of that dancer on telly Tick-tick-tick I know it's a nasty programme But I was moved. Although you are now Twenty girls ahead
The dirty book Smiles at us for days From the top shelf. We have to climb to get it. I am volunteered On account of my supreme agility. It is called The Joy of Sex. It features a man
He liked to crunch The hairy bit The chewy fat A habit That made her gag. For her, it was indicative Of a lasciviousness The grease would speckle His lips and remind her
I have had this book out Four times now- 'Autobiographics' By Leigh Gilmore How we can theorise Our life stories. Gilmore eschews Familiar generic questions Apparently. I eschew the theory