Ever Second Son

The casual eye to the butcher.

The black door is mine.

 

Such torrid is life.

Thy will be done.

Your humble servant.

It is night and 

mine eager is tell.

I know with her shoulders.

You want used to me.

All the role play.

Eyes wide yours 

tell tale prerogative.

I’m disparate wretch.

General alarm: 

there will be blood.

The pall of the metropolitan

is deep and wide.

Sun light dust. Flies.

How now consecutive hours.

I know with her shoulders.

 

Hardly creature comforts.

Her leavings 

on the arena.

I bird dog her 

when the games up. 

Mutual tension apt flesh. G©