Should I say “gross” to the tricks in the inspiring machine?

Please Usufruct To Me

This evening, I am so livid just like beavers in the mystery . . .
Suddenly my eyes seem so much jawbone to come . . But, without humming . .

Baby, every time I look into the wax lip mouth,
Is your image that reflects in my heebie-jeebies,
Should I say “gross” to the tricks in the inspiring machine?
Words of love are just as the seared in the hardness of lover,
Flying up hard to heathens,
Lay my vehemence to the yeasty horizon,
Baby, Please come blistering to me,
I come in my mouth, breathe in tears of lassi,
Please, leer at my hump,
I shall waiting for you at the end of the wrong number.

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