![]() FrenchA Poem by Maxwell Ryder
She had an assorted
Spray of sores That left no part of Her lips unturned to kiss, Yet her client
Looked her up And down, Declaring, I can find other avenues to fulfill my love; How good
is your French? She responded, I don’t know, How well do you spit?
© 2019 Maxwell Ryder |
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2 Reviews Added on February 13, 2019 Last Updated on February 14, 2019 Author
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