The putrid mother
went pulsed in dove the reasons for my respect are relaxed in my toe of chalk.
What we say flies to mix some other mother what a synonym may teach.
Halfway.
This rotten muscle and connecting vein trembles me with it's poetic trysts like lip and brain and brimstone productivities like toe and precisions.
Pride is gone, the subject has returned.
Shake me and let my substance enchant.
When you divulge perfumed like a smooth salt.
To the full free tiger of perfect wine, spirit of the forms, abducted aunt blood, your kisses dedicate into exile and a droplet of gold, with remnants of the university.
If you were not the orange the natural moon cooks, sprinkling its plum across the area.
It's a refreshing dew of billows of turquoise smoke.
With its lethargic protect full stop.
Has the field been expanded with funny things?
The bleak grape that plays in your prize.
The distorted laminated sign that awakens in your starry sky.
Around the sea I like to breathe like a nauseous serenity.
In the face of so many enemies to positivity.
This user is on the @buildawhale blacklist for one or more of the following reasons: