a sexual poem about Elon musk
His wobbling chin
And his stone calves
Defy nature!
An outcry!
From the vixen people.
But I cry...
He is mine.
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I am prone to sitting in a cosy corner with my notebook and jotting down ideas. I do flaneur for fun, and I am just a villager who's all burned out! Taking life in the slow lane, enjoy my open notebook! This is my reverie, my sacred space. Here the heart opens and the wounds heal. Visions and archangels guide me through a maze of confusion and despair to really marvel at th light of day. I have my wits but little else.
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