Yep, Still Thinking About You

I know, I know. Chrysanthemums do grow. I've caught the breeze my love that fans the flames, a male and horny dove above the games. I could not give a wee about the crap, but will you send to me your nectar' sap? I shall, without due haste look for your sign a Google cut and paste, a single line. It matters not, of course they say the thought is in the Trojan Horse. Perhaps for naught. So many years have come only to fade inside a shade of rum and lemonade. I talk a heavy spiel, just to impress. But my Achilles Heel is YOURS to bless. I would pay all I own to make the time and point ole Baldur's bone into my wine.