Gedicht
Nitoo Das
Love Song: IX
Love Song: IX
Love Song: IX
A playsure, an erasurea damn cocksure toiffurier.
Leave me to my
bewoahing, you tenderhanded hoisterier.
It was in the hornice cornice that I found her,
slatherfolding blatherer.
Damn, damn wilchead and wilchold
went jooby boobying with her
and damn it’s triff, I tell you
triff and nothing better.
Her wiggance is so gizsal.
So houndeous, so beauteous,
so imperfeccamble.
I think I need another tasty toisterier
like her.
A playsure, an erasure,
a damn cocksure toiffurier.
© 2005, Nitoo Das
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Publisher: First published on PIW,
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Love Song: IX
A playsure, an erasurea damn cocksure toiffurier.
Leave me to my
bewoahing, you tenderhanded hoisterier.
It was in the hornice cornice that I found her,
slatherfolding blatherer.
Damn, damn wilchead and wilchold
went jooby boobying with her
and damn it’s triff, I tell you
triff and nothing better.
Her wiggance is so gizsal.
So houndeous, so beauteous,
so imperfeccamble.
I think I need another tasty toisterier
like her.
A playsure, an erasure,
a damn cocksure toiffurier.
Love Song: IX
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