Whats in the Fridge

Beauty is the power of a scream.  As a shadow falls like blood from a knife death becomes like a garden in the spring.  Drunk on the honey rock smell of the symphony.  I run her to bead drooling love from my sausage head.  She shows me two breasts i still lick them.  Lovely women produce such luscious milk he said as the ugly girls flood me with such bitter juice. I tongue behind the hair of her pink peach petal. The goddess moans eat me as I finger her butt.  Her mother cannot picture the lust yet she stares at his enormous size.  In delirious worship she whispers hot music of men.  I still pound away asking her to leave white lather in her forest..