Osprey

I. My son–in the brookweed Innocent–to the extent that a boy caught between a young man and an old child could be–these headlands could be–this man-child I beget soon will come fucking the lithesome behind sedges osprey in a repertory–lifting ecstatic “the quest for satiation is urgent” as though pulled invisibly by kedges II. Lust–there is no way to know when it’ll go squnk in his pocket osprey–invisibly by kedges after a hive of bugs vibrating–soon jacking-off becomes chronic My son–in the brookweed your daughter–the direct object of my son’s gooey sockets–perhaps the function of gum blown pervertedly I change his bed sheets–“a conspirator of emergency” III. How dearly, I thought there is no way to separate–his loin is intransitive –the palm from the cock. It does not take a direct object, it is a hedge like a brunette crotch. I clean sheets, they fold pervertedly–your daughter O repertories of flesh I taught the boy to hold onto it vertically as though skimming a rock–said if the arrogant thing on him lifts apparently refuses to drop, and “the quest for satiation is urgent” you must drub it to stop the brookweed quivers–the spleen seems to floc My child–carefully puts a bug in his pocket

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