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Amshe's a pornographer's dream, he Fsaid.
FI knew what he meant.
but Cit made me imagine: what kind of a dream
he would havAme, that hadn't been spent?
Amwould he still dream of the thigh? of the flesh upon high?
what he Fsaw so much of?
wouldn't heE dream of the thing that he never
could quiteAm get the touch of?
it's out of his hFands, over his hGead
out of his rAeach, under this real life
hidden in vFeils, covered in sGilk
he's dreaming of Awhat might be
out of his hFands, over his hGead
out of his rAeach, under this real life
hidden in veFils, G
he's dreaming of mAystery.
BAmettie Page is still the rage
with her lFegs and leather;
she tEurns to tease the camera, and please us at hAmome,
and we let her.
wAmho's to know what she'll show of herFself,
Fin what measure?
if Ewhat she reveals, or what she conceals,
is the Amkey to our pleasure?
it's out of his hFands, over his hGead
out of his rAeach, under this real life
hidden in vFeils, covered in sGilk
he's dreaming of Awhat might be
out of his hFands, over his hGead
out of his rAeach, under this real life
hidden in veFils, G
he's dreaming of mAystery.
Amshe's a pornographer's dream, he Fsaid.
FI knew what he meant.
but Cit made me imagine: what kind of a dream
he would havAme?
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