Reap out the air with fog.
Reignite in time.
Not too deep unless it isn’t long.
We have sound. Lips down! Don’t give up her seat.
You let us down. Reignite. Scent round up.
The vicious type.
If I am a suspect, call her.
Squealing in the sack.
Doesn’t matter to you, about the fog.
Cover breeds its fun.
Slowly we’re fogged out.
It licks men. It acts.
Shout “Paddy fields, let’s out!”
It’s better to find my own.
Has it been sown?