Molly is barely under her own dress today. The teeth in her mouth biting air, the teeth in her zipper biting hair. Twisted tired. Too much time in the tub tonight. Maybe it was that small thimble of gin (and then agin) Je besoined just a petit puddle to dit what je need to ecrite in mon lettre pour mon hot piment. Pour. Poor you.
Mon coco, my chou,
Today, our neighbor left a cake (de beurre) on the doorstep. In the rain.
Stoop, troops. Seal six, steal sex. It’s ashes, asses, all fall down. Fingery mess. Ring me round the rosey, something about a candlestick, a baker, my butcher’s a maker. I’ve never pulled out a plum . Confections, confessions. I ate wet cake.
Nous avons le beurre et l'argent du beurre,
M.
