_If I had only one bullet in the chamber_
I’d have to get the target close_
To not blow it.
The shot. Not the target.
Though, I’d let the target blow me in the chamber close.
Given all the variables.
See Ameikanski word games.
I took chances when it came to my target, which was moving, and still is.
Am I objectifying my sole objective?
Of course I am.
For hilarity. And because American men have no tact.
Not a mind game tonight, dorogaia, I beg, please just a word game.
Three for three.
Not an objective mission: A lesson or an aim.
One has to keep love for one’s life_ away from the love of one’s life,
ALWAYS at arm’s length. (That’s some man’s wife).
Use the pistol in the bedroom, if necessary.
eyes,
And her thighs,
Her hips_ her lips.
And especially her lies.
It comes all over me like a shudder sometimes.
Or a blindfold before a Saturday night weekly execution.
Pure lust between those angel wings.
Don’t be fooled by whose side I’m on by dawn.
Hold me tight again before we part for days.
What he don’t know won’t hurt him,
Since you guys don’t have the same last name.
SO, what if I miss you_ kiss you_ imaginary bliss true?
I bet you take issue.
To hopeless target acquisition,
Running afoul of all common sense.
I’ve lost my etiquette.
I guess I’m an Ameikanski when the cap comes off.
And thus she separates my bullets from my gun.
And BANG. There just went midnight.
-WSA