My Mother' The Moon Of It Is ' - Poem by James McLain
Perfect' each manner,
the skin on its full moon is '
Smooth' like ' Silk.' Its ' Bottom' is the ' well-rounded; Perfection,
'With all the two its creamy cheeks
like the ' white; Milk! '
My mother has a really tiny size,
'green avocado middle butter'
And its soft moon is ' Pooched' outside '
Its valley divides these cheeks which I find
thus the ' Candy, '
And the '
Treasure' hidden it, n' there does not have too reach! '
she likes him, and me like it too.
My mother knows the
' Thing which I want the ' Majority,
'Thus it rolls more on a ' motion, '
This raises its ' face caked'
the moon upwards in the sky,
And it ' Heats' my retreiver like the' sun'.
While the mother groans and sighs,
and the ' Arcs the sky' it behind.
My mother made know it feels my language,
' she groans it, and her 'Hips' start with the ' Move.'
And when ' ' It's; Locked' my mouth on top it sighed.
And licked and sucked it just so that it changed its 'Cut! ' ' groaned and whispered of my mother;
John' saint; ; , It'; ' of iS; pooched';
outside like a young person '; Bud'; opening.
My mother haleté when it is felt to go freely,
She groaned and the ' said; 'Johnny you'; about no twig'!
You return to me avid like a small pig! '
And my mother'
like the pink pig her pearls haleté with pleasure, and sighed!
To feel weak with its moon strongly tightening.
Mother' ' kept by the moon of; Milking';
outside my milk, do the neighbors
know I the adopted, old women on the mountain tops.
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