M.I.L.F. and Cookies

I’ve got the sickness–the kind with three legs.

I’ve not the thickness–the kind which she begs.

But, this thirst is what drives me to her dregs.

She says she’s got the cure and tells me more.

She’s Liz Reese: hot–uh, sure!–candles, the floor.

But, this matron with her milk is no whore.

I’ve got the Complex–the kind with a mom.

I’ve bought the calm sex–the kind that’s the bomb.

And, this mommy lets me eat from her palm.