Roly

Standing on the corner. Nefarious shoulder. Potato salad your go to then, hip and cool, you and your wren. Pockets full of bliss, hard, fast, but now a miss. You somehow seemed to love, compared to the violence hawks further north near the falls, who did as well but in bursts of kisses uncontrolable and lovely but to last a second or two, before arming up again, for a knife doth kindness chew.

Cheers old Roly!!!

My man!!!

Nico