I brought my ghost to your man-hole. You were costumed, and being ogled by an ejaculator, who lost it when you measured him with your tongue. You took him home with Japanese on your motorcycle. He loved the miso, and licked your crayons into dawn. You asked him to jumpstart your new job. He opened wide, rang your bell, turned on the Super 8. The stream buffered. Your legs grew. The ogler and I stared as your therapist's transference lucked into your green mannequins.
