Mine Being Blue, His Always Pink Poem by James McLain

This past is so clean near the future.
Majority if not some, n' did not have one.
Even while on the carpet we sit it down.
she always speaking, how I l' liked.
I could only nor was envisaged with but listening.
such long legs qu' it placed upwards and above mine.
It would increase her skirt then upwards,
upwards and to the top of around its size.
Reason of this qu' she simply said;
it squirts.
and not, I l' did not hear to listen.
She always used these wrinkled breeches.
These breeches with gimlets right througth,
always very gently she hides it not never seen.
breeches and of much of being diffracted colors.
Mine being blue, his always pink.
moist wet legs above mine, she would take by my hand.
As it helped its individual with it.
Beneeth its legs not taking any in consideration it.
when its breeches were white,
I could see well her face by and by them.
N' made its breeches forever get clear.
Although its face was also smooth qu' a mine of fishing
net caught in the holes the nets made of.
qu' was also red; squeezed and juiced a beet.
Jusqu' with this qu' if l' touched it.