Comfort me, archaic little lover.
Touching... feeling... pressing...
...
When holding your heart;
I could paint your soul.
With every color,
Just not blue.
...
Dirty Little Typerwriter
Comfort me, archaic little lover.
Touching... feeling... pressing...
Rapid thrusting.
Thrusting.
Friction.
Thrusting!
Bleeding... release.
This is your last time in this attic;
You're old and worn out.
And besides...
You were never good at keeping our secret, anyway.