“Elvira”

a short poem for your enjoyment- typed up originally on an antique smith corona typewriter..

Like a steel fly-trap vagina,
she lie in wait,
for the citizens of Red China.

Her parfumed hair,
smells of fragrant willows,
blowing tangled by air;

As I sit acrost and gaze upon her,
through the arms of a chair.

(Now we are {really} playing with fire.)

Dear Elvira, try and find me…

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