Sunday, April 3, 2011

I Masterbate With My Daughter

I would be the heater in your pot, one of the 10mil pillows on your bed, your bra, your blouse or your underwear. I can see the freckles on your nose to fall asleep, I can cross the tips of my fingers through your back and hear you sigh, and be happy. I like you even if you think on a scale of 1 to 10, I am a six in intelligence. I like to bossy. Because you are so arrogant that is adorable. I like you because you say please or thank you, and because seriously thought I was going to wash the dishes, ha! illusory. It excites me your complete and total lack of hygiene and order. Who was the savanna on which you engage to download and explain how it should be done your meal. Watch your back, hug your body, you turn around and stay quiet observing the ring in your right hand, and wonder the story behind it. And I wonder if one of those many movies that say they saw actually saw or all were just the beginning and catch. If you could see yourself as I see you, you would understand my silence uncomfortable and my sweaty hands, you would understand that you seem so attractive that it is impossible not move and you blow your load on me ...


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