“What are you doing here, Ghislaine, Marie? By what post, according to what pattern?”
Ghislaine didn’t belong in prison, doing erect time, at the end of a hard penistentiary, in quarantine, no more so than Marie Antoinette, prone, splaid out, belonged fetal aborted, underneath a guiolletine.
Ghislaine didn’t belong enwomb, doing soft time, ejected from the tippy end of excited penistration, nor more than Marie Antoinette belonged beneath a length of stay in soft bagquette cakie dough, belatedly remiss.
Stay of execution, stay of solemn staid erection, folding of discretion, laxity of proclus, execute the erection putting Ghislaine in prison, a recluse.
Ghislaine, didn’t belong in penal colony, doing pert and pretty time, as expulsion and dereliction, proxim near her colon, as mare no more Marie, t’wonce and future mistress masseuse, unconsummated as a colophon, a sad excuse,
Marie, in Paris prison for a short stay, premature on layaway, for immature impulse, in the middle of the night, blocked from day, violet dream, deepening pit, a pendulous and dangling schlong, a night sky etched in prism, prism scratches red and black, stars to red and black go,
Austrian or Viennese sausage to forego,
A star of prison break, of love, of life, expansiveness.
Ghislaine and Marie, hand in hand, hoping to promise, promising to hope, promising young or not so young, prison break a revelation of full scope,
Marie erected a statute, and constituted a tomb. She took a stubby statue and rub robbed her barren womb.
Ghislaine, when she grabbed a toe, snuggled up as so, she loved the rubbing guy, rubbed a loving toe, involved with hookers, with photogenic quickers, progeny profusers, an isle, an ebony isle, a Saint Helena, Chateau d’ If, a glib, gibbet, a quirk, was Napoleon — Eppie J.– a jerk? Was that what he did to sweet Scarlet Beatrice, Joséphine de Beauharnais?
Spam of Human Affection 
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