ocr: Durendal : But For the Sitchmeat the Roland was my Oun. How I will flay her bone From Flesh From bone Oh! for the piercing! How I long For that one - I long to tear the petals, long to string the pomegranate and grapes Of her sex onto the long Slades Of emerald grass, sueet beneath an evening summer shy, as I ply her gilded juices into the skg... the evenung shg... How Dare She! Bitchmeat! The saviour is mine! He, the Roland is For me! AND IE ALONE Ihave timbres which she could only dream... Iam Widowmaher called Durendal called nail what colors could she offer that are not already given his g ...
(.png)
