Of all the places I’ve spilled my seed, I love Your picnic basket.
That bastard swagger Brings her to her knees, just like Every other time.
The small of your back, Cooled by my hand, you ask me If we are alone
Clasp your palm against My quivering lips so no One hears my moaning.
Upon her fingers, Her G string dangles, thirst so Savage must I slake
Sunbeam caresses Lovely buttocks, dies lonely Death in her anus