por. Facundo Ezequiel
O for her knickers hang
from my shower's handle.
My train of thought
is lost, gone under.
I rage, despair, and loud
I cry, O my! My mouth!
How can I be polite?
Her panties were loose,
ne'er tight.
Her legs spread wide,
but I never was
in between 'em.
My stomach revolved
and so did the barrel,
when I shot her.
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