come over

i'll isolate your island and show it to your lover 
so he'll know that ive decoded you, the tongue a slimy cypher and notice that we used it for a sky sexual semaphore and think that you had lied before about the person living in your 
cortex
he'll be perplexed 
by my digest of your soul

confiscate your hymen then show it to your lover so he'll see that he inadequate and desire to discover then ask me to sit in a bit, we'll fuck he'll examine it through telescope and bullet list our cosmic copulation  will 
form this 
while my firm dick
digs the peach pit out your soul 

banana peel tongue not unlike a talisman charmingly hung when your mouth open measure circumference once to find which orifice my aura fits in

show it

No Direction

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No Direction

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