5714.]

How many ways can you turn a tanktop into a shirt?

Drop the bra.
It’s an undergarment.
Perpetual quakes and my cute whimsy at clothes making
And ripping every cord
Learned as a crawler in the night
And shadowy assassin myths are all I got
To why coco looked so good on the beach.
Blanco only sold in all-black.

Whatever dismal discourse led you to me – hello.
I see we’ve met before.

I used to be all balls.
Then it turned into patsy bless-ur-heart
And prey on your downfall.
Planning every step accordingly from a mention 7 to a decade ago.

I make promises all the time.
I play long-reply and the long-con is simply can-can for fantasy.

What a bloke to leave a reply.
Something so hesitant, and obvious.
Catch attention.
Okay.

We’ve talked about that before.
In all your celebrity – getover it.
Thrifted for a dollar form wally world “name-brand” bins.
I’m going to teach my daughter this.
I have none – I Hope you Do.

Either way.
Classy and courtesy.
Cancer curtsy.
Naked under all those clothes
And I choose sweet rags for surprise.
Do you like when I make the seams snap?

At will, twist it.
Tie it another way.
Try again.
Oh no, it got loose again.
Wonderful indeed.

Dinner’s gonna burn if you keep me here long enough.
Quiche or Zucchini Bread?
Is more of a timing thing.
Amongst old shadows, that never found their way in my
Blinding light of lack-of-guidance.
In my “free-time.”
Ridiculed. Cancer is a breeze.
Dementia a delight.
The hardest partier of alzheimer flu.

Old never looked so good.
And much younger in feel for you.

I never got to live my 20s.
I started to get to know myself about 10 years ago.
I’ve been unwrapping slowly since – for you.
You all.

I hope it’s a nicer bow than pleated cardigans and pioneer piping.
Sexy and secluded.
No cleavage.
That’s how I’d prefer it.

Sleep in your birthday suit?
Why do you sleep naked?

What type of question is that?
Get kicked out of bed perusing into stances like that, I promise.
Dear.