All Find My Tongue Poem by James McLain

Tit for that good grades, feeling smug
thoroughly was the good priest rubbed?
and or robbed ' ' As for me he was off.'
Which shoots that to his; It is rubbed; As for me,
each lip as leaves the tree hears winds, that whisper
which is not the hardest of times,
when it could but does not resist even longer,
my mouth around the bit like a horse it was opened,
and many hands could be slipped in my panties
their they all find, my tongue.
And the moon, weeping my face, ridden is
' As for him my wet saucy surface…
like the sun is hot for an, 'A never and, those 'B's
' The highest which hit
and wherefore you shot into that;
' The rear moved apart seeing it was once
a clear green wrapper
and left of the explosions laughingly sound of lolly
victorious and marching, beating on drums
so when it is
and concerning the stick of many candies
or those candles with wicks unlit there are more
fire is later but then ice melts sooner,
coming always back while waiting it goes on?