a study toward sonnet #771 by FisherKingKQJ
I should tell by your sobs and sombre mood,
The far too silent phone, your flurry vain,
Your loss of appetite for wholesome food,
That you were seeding scale five hurricane.
My ears popped on low pressure slurry vane,
Your bulging temple vein forecasting storm,
Your hectoring for vector worry gain,
Your red faced cycle pacing true to form.
That hot air spirals up to putdowns warm,
You huff me twit, nut, clot anticlockwise,
Uproot me as some tight arsed little gorm,
You puff me nut, clot, twit, as swell, clockwise.
Your crystal ball boils stormpipes underfoot,
The fingers tarred by fags fig me no cheroot.
(Chorus)
o $10,000 underfoot
o $10,000 downtrodden
o $10,000 trampled
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]
SPADES DIAMONDS CLUBS