She's my Columbine,
like milk which is poured
into the chaufet
and topped with flavours
of the devils fruits.
She's a sugar cane
which is enjoyed so slow
filled with oranges
and a pinch of sourness
to the clitoris.
She's the flavour
of an unholy grail turned
into holiness
with these ingredients
Ah, Columbine!
She's like drugs
but we don't need them
to keep it hard,
we're so much in heat
it's permanent.
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