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People write poems to the moon like it’s some 90s Bret Anderson neurasthenic poet painter with fragile heart in flames, but if the moon was anyone it would be Sid James: a right smutty peeper, lewd, lascivious, absolutely soused in Brut & tab smoke, talks about “having it off” & “getting a leg over”
Feb 27, 2025, 9:47 AM