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Peeling paint, dead cigarettes... old cobwebs on the ceiling. Feeling |
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faint, the spider fled - the flies played hide 'n' seek. We wrestled cheek |
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to cheek, pink naked on the sheets. A feel was cheap, a deeper thrill was |
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steeper. Camera peeped, director leaping, screaming, shouting, louder |
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"Roll 'em, hold 'em, hole 'em, Close up. ART! Perpetual motion. Higher! |
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Ram it home now cowby. Down Boy. Showdown! Shoot that crazy foam across |
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the duvet..." Get them creaming at the dairy, pumping lonesome 'cross the |
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Praries. Hats spin on their laps. The hotsprings gushing. Play roulette. |
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The russians do it best - well, don't they, Jerkov? |
