The Thing About Being Sick

Sally Mander

The hive on your face is driving me wild.
Brigitte can contort her body vividly.
Able bodied semen.
I can't see the dollhouse with all this noise going on.
It was your ass that burped.
Caution: men with torque.
Don't stray from the parmesan.
Auntie's wet trousers.
A pound of goose flesh.
The phlegm on your stick.
Dancing naked at Safeways.
Voles argue.
Up an aardvark's vaginal passage.
Coupled oddities.
The 'why I love America' tape.
Slurping the clam.
Le cinema mobile on doit salute.
Cranberries.
Near perfection.
I don't know what this is.
Jazz live in a house of love.
Just what is mononucleosis.
Stand by your grave.
Lake District mammaries.
Shit stained tea bags.
Hammer up your bottom.
Eight years and already experiencing erections.
Dripping feet.
Sticky fingers in plum puddings.
The last good measle.
Save me from the big fish.
I want to be a Hindu love god.
How many sausages up your bum.
Slim chance of biscuits.
Maths is a discipline not a toy.
The bag over your shoulder contains snails.
Windows are not a view.
The cracked path of your life is unrepairable.
Foxgloves and children.
Let sleeping buddhas lie.
Unforgiveable truths.
It wasn't Brad Pitt's penis.
Bitterly brutal with a hint of lemon.
Piss sandwich.
Nehwetam and the sex queue.
Asian boy blues.
Nigger in a jam jar.
Jesus ate my faeces.
The road to Frinton-on-sea.
Teleport me into your quim.
Speak the words of John Forsyth.
Can't get you out of my bed.
Solopsism isn't a cure.
Brittle excuses.
Ponytail heaven.
The red mullet starred in films.
Comic timing.
Pagoda of broken hips.
House with a naked Muslim.
Perry and cider are drunk by naked girls.
Simultaneously prostrate.
Guild of guilds.
Serious leanings.
The place to go is here.
The multipack is in the garden.
Eyedrops for the rich and famous.
Send me the heal of Adam Warren.
Make mine a bikini.
If I had to wear a bra it would be that one.
I've got sick in my hair again.
Can you not wipe your fingers on my face.
The taxi driver thought he was a cantalope.
If I was Superman I'd kill fags.
Nice weather we're hating.
Strange and possibly untrue.

Bake well tarts; come done, realistic pleasures, harmonious bequeaths and sherpa tensing rods.