segunda-feira, 26 de novembro de 2012

Tickle trouble.

Trouble decreed it would have it´s way with the sweet town,
Who was I to placard it against.
And the scent of my sweat how does that tickle trouble?
Enough to attract it´s attention?
My dry mouth now is moist with thought of one long ruthless girl.
On the way toward gossip and giggles nightmares leapt
away like limping clowns.
I´d made my greeting and my face was as good as written!
How would they ever know that thinking about my way;
Would mean between their braincells there´d be me
and a pleasure well earned.

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