let me just stumbling through finite health and glib, sturdy, night gather you up into immortal fleck of dying perfect girl(whose hair, swiftly annihilators, many short and wonderful dark, smells like living, balmy, and dirt)like the moon, drawn exactly round against the nape of common onyx heaven. And, i, carefully stupid
shall impart

                                            deliberate

                                  clumsy

                                                               ­    boylips