Drink, ****. Poor. Lick, sensual fits. ****. I'm lifted like a arobatic wind, and drifted like a scattered garbage bin. I'm long and I lay verisimilitude to your crude oil painting of a Dubloon, your family ruin, treasure. I bring pleasure and distraction in a measure I can't measure up, too. I'm falling asleep on kin's couch as I dreamed I touched you. A canvas I placidly transit in my dream fallace. But I, I am I gilded knight, a sanctioned right, a shortened night. Why in hell cant I spill a little, content with being the **** for once, at the expense of my happiness, I choose constants.