Under your brim, of biochem. Jungling your gym. Of Nastya. Eating your pasta. But, not a Rasta. Stacking, packing. Your front, sides, up, down, and backing. Never slacking, lacking. Positively smacking. Your hydraulic jacking. Not ticking, but, tacking. Your duck of personality suck. Ever quacking. Beyond earning a buck, for living luck. Because, I give more than a fuck. Pretenders. I'm head of blenders and lenders. So, you're borrowers. Just slaves, to me. Spirit, heart, mind. As I tickle sickle loving give. Your Nastya body. To relationship, live. Treasures beyond measures. Of work and thrill. To your heart, spirit, mind fill. So, you never emotionally spill. One drop. Of soda pop. Twisting off, your top. Because, my whipped cream of relationship dream. Unites with your team. Frog jumping, blood pumping. While humping you. Basing your ball. Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall. Strong, long, tall. Inside your "fame hall ". Of relationship history. Solving. Your revolved, mystery. In your past. Creating "hysteria ". Like flies, malaria. Under your mental and emotional brim. Of biochem. Jungling your gym. Of Nastya. Mealing off. Your "pasta "! Though not a Rasta. Trending viral spiral. Like Osiris. Never Tyrus. Or Cyrus. As stylist. Never guile-less. Uplifting, gifting. Positively shifting. Assisting with. Your Nastya, "heavy lifting ". That's your gears, up shifting into overdrive. Bee, treeing. Spreeing. Inside their hive. Thriving beyond surviving. Your cardiac, reviving, aliving. Near and far. Nastya, my celebrity, star.
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