elanya

The bees are massing in their hive
And with their multi-faceted eyes
They're scouting down the passageway
That lies between my warrior's thighs

My back betrays their monthy charge
The battle soon begins
I arm myself with a cotton spear
My mount unfurns its plastic wings

....

I'm thinking of a third verse, probably somethign conclusive. I actaully like this poem. It's a bit tongue-in-cheek, and it *sounds* good when you say it. I bet there aren't many other poems out there about crotch drippings, but I've never looked, so I could be wrong.

I'm in a bitchy mood tonight. I don't want to do anything. I want everything to be already done. I'm starting to regret my plans of baking for christmas. It was all well and good when I had pelnty of time. No one who needs stuff mailed is going to get it in time, I can guarantee. I'm not going to bother sending stuff to M&I until after New year's, because they're both gone. Bleh. And I have to send stuff to Liz and co, but I have to get that all made still... who knows when it will arrive. And when am I going to Waterloo? I don't know. I haven't talked to Joel about it yet. I don't even know when I'm goign to visit dad over Christmas. bleh.