Slim brown thing,
Smelt like she bathed in
Ghetto eczema C.R.E.A.M up to her unseen seems.

Told me her 11 digit math
With ear whispers claiming that
If I remember she’d answer
So I told her X, this is nothing. Class.

Same hour
Phone rings twice before her answering.
Words with ease then proceeded political like broadcasting,
Early polls predicting
Confidence of
Two and a half men rescheduling
My night towards #winning.

So with
Thoughts linked to her backaches pending,
Durex acquired, Patel deuces waving.

Attitude
Kill them all!
12 inches
Take it all,
And another too recover for each hour under covers.

Check the rubber
I wonder,
Too high
As I
Leave her slow ass to ponder
How I smoke off my thunder
During her measurements of imminent slumber.
A hundred was the number.

Erm..
My change..?

Wayne Thomas © 2011