So he asked her if she still liked rainbows,
And how high she could count
With his lazy eye and lazy tongue flickering.
His lips spelt: Women. Women. Women. Women.

His hands clasped stiff like pincers
Perfect, for the unattainable
For the Untouched

His beacon: The dog
Where his owner liked to look at buttocks,
He liked bacon.

You might say there was a distinctive atmosphere:
Like the paper weights, like the posters-
It was almost a collection
(Lure.) Obscure!

"Oh, I hope I left you enough room."
Squeezing himself out, sucking in years of meaty sorrow,
In one inhale.
He brushed her car with his stomach.
He brushed her stomach with his car.

Stupid patronising perverted fuck.