The sweet taste of an apple bitten by the bison,
Eyes glaze and my mind wanders,
The warm fuzzy glow encapsulates,
Slurred words and rosy cheeks,
Inappropriate laughter.

For the morning may bring an axe to the head,
As I lay with two pillows, a sandwiched my head,
The bison is frisky and the kiss maybe Polish…

Time for sleep.


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