each night i see her there. the window shows her there. but she said it's all-right if i watch her every night as she lays down and goes to work while i hope for a glimpse of what she will not let me have between her thighs. puts on a show for me; a movie just for me. she says "look but don't touch" but she's asking too much. if she'd just let me walk across the street i'd finally get more than a peek at what's there in between her thighs. she's moving faster now; i'm moving faster now. thoughts about my face inside her thighs' embrace are dancing in my brain. i get worked up, i get too worked up wanting, needing what's there between her thighs.
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Too Worked Up
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| Screeching Weasel |
