Kitchen distress

Like I do you
saying the things that mean that we’re through
But then I’m boxed
spaghetti noodle stew
I explode, like a can of soup
You’re kitchens a mess
and despite your distress
You know we’ll end up

Having sex

 

Yes I’m a bloke in a dress

But my hair, my gloriously silly tress

Hold my body and my mind

enable us to be intertwined

Kitchen sink drama’s

Washing the pots

suds galore

splish slap slop

 

 

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