Destroying the classics for the dream of cream
By William Sexspeare, Humour Admirer
This is just to say
I have eaten
my âcrumbsâ
that were in
your lady box
and which
you were probably
saving
for the shower.
Forgive me
they were delicious
so salty
and so warm.
Roses are red
Those balls are blue
Stuffing is sweet
And so is goo.
How do I love cream? Let me count the ways.
I love it to the depth and breadth and height
My pole can reach, when coming out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Bones.
I love wads to the level of every dayâs
Most quiet need, by pink and pornography websites.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Spooge;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Dry to (Cream)pie.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old socks, and with my manhoodâs fluids.
I love skeet with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost load, I love thee with the blast,
Smiles, tears, of all to come! and, if she chooses,
I shall but love thee better after each little death.
