Gosh, don't I crickle
when you tickle my triple zipple,
letting a trickle of sticklish whipple
beezle off your freckled prickle
onto my wobbly wickle.
When your jingy is all a-bongle,
believe me, I go nearly mongle!
Stan Sýkora, Arese, Maggio 1997
To Cindy, a friend of my sister,
You breathed like an Angel
Copyright ©2004 Stanislav Sykora DOI: 10.3247/elcl09.037