Their knees, to line up and hit, my profligate son does. Or, by his knee, to line up and hit gongs, my son does.
To get a boner, to pretend ignorance, for playing lucky laugh.
On a sunny spot, to be left out of them, spring has come.
Not to think deeply enough, to lick and lick her pen, to make a farewell call. Or, not to think deeply enough, to blow job, for love in her vacation.
Newspapers to cut up, and grill a squid, only having regrets about.