[ it's originating from my chest, on all fours it approaches my brain case, tickling my throat and nose during procession. ]
i've never felt like such a child as the firing line shot straight to my eyes.
jesus excuses you kind sir!
to be such a groundless hog on a spit of landless sea is dripping in celestial flavor. i'm elated, euphoric, observant and lost in the under passing burrow. blowing low with the swiftly nimbly numb, human behavior can be categorized with convenience.
"hence, shall we roll?we are within a spitting distance!already?fuck!"
to cosignatory infatuation i give my regards on this day we live en route; to gaiety and merriment i give my acquired taste for the wind; and for the wistful migrant my contemplative sorrows, misgivings, and a hawk. but you... you are saccharine. you have yet to be crowned with my cardiovascular king. on, holiday!
No comments:
Post a Comment