I estrange: the gurl goes outa me, I change from terrain sans milk, Honey: funnything shrivels, gism yet dribble
I estrange: the gurl goes outa me, I change
from terrain sans milk, Honey: funnything
shrivels, gism yet dribbles tho' for the thought
that She likes me in my flowered dress and best,
She matters not for me to p in HerRoom
'midst cruds and bloods; we OfThePad make glad
celebration that I, no longer guy,
share of such lactation
commensurate with Our Station.
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