Not authored by me.
A Thanksgiving love poem…
He laid her on the table
So white clean and bare.
His forehead wet with beads of sweat
He rubbed her here and there.
He touched her neck and then her breast
And then drooling felt her thigh.
The slit was wet and all was set,
He gave a joyus cry.
The hole was wide…he looked inside
All was dark and murky.
He rubbed his hands and stretched his arms…
And then he stuffed the turkey.
