Chubby Jane knew that ! But she did n’t gave a damn! For this black shift was the sheath of the swordy lady! Don’t picture she needed to rove under a still moon. I mean: in order to outwears her shift.
With desire bursting from guts and climbing up towards lungs and heart. Uttering stupendous yells!
When the swordy lady feels horny, Chubby Jane says, she looks acute….Knifelike kisses are not so far.
And the blades of her lips are so sharp while her nipples become nails. Those nails, you know. Made for hammering living owls on barn doors. Countryside hatred as well.
Nipples punctuating her man’s chest. And he has to stay there, indeed, for a jig-saw looking like intercourse!
This is why I was picking moon with Chubby Jane. Moon and stars. In order to pour them all in a hot dark and strong coffee.
Together, with daunting tremulations twisting heart, bones and our meaty hunger of bittersweet rough sex whatever could happen. Whole shouting in the dark like witches burning on scaffolds or calves during slaughter.
Fun and sexy!
As hot fudge! Marshmallows! Hot Chili with beans! And sausages! Big saveloys! And mustard!
Horse radish too!
And a cloud of hell’s milk: mere obscenity as a trivial black diamond!
Weird and foxy!
Because Chubby Jane feels carnal. Hell’s bound as says the priest she showed her ass to!
That’s the way it is!
Skin’s sin! That’s all! She never wears shifts, but ripped. And her ripe fruits outwears the fabric. No spears on her boobs! And we drink beer galore.
Dark barley wine!
And her marvellous eyes are dark blue twin blades, edgy razors as they make in Sheffield.
To cut Death’s throat