a tiny poem that fucking 4° may like.

only you
and another million lies.

whatever it takes baby.

so the bruise on my arse is growing
and the riff from sweet child o mine is growing
and the cock in my pants is ummm....growing
and the listen volume suck it please is growing



[ps don't mean 4 degrees may like it as a proposal or anything, just picked up that he/she is into this sort of filth/art

grin it makes it better :)