those are very sharp apples. bobbing for catheters and chasms have their own parabolas or might you think your urchin skin; the pinnacle of passive violence in the **** kingdom of your vibration in the valley of our entropy. the Either Nor'easter of our zero degrees West.
Due South of Sound Reason.
the locals call " the sound " where the heads pool the dark waters of our consciousness and eddies abide beneath the radiant dirge of sweet sweet life, and singing blue whale pods in the dodgy brush-fires of our Marianas Trench-coat Lining the vocals explode the random and un-cloaked , it disappears as phenomenal and all men seize the kelp beds of our delirium with bashful wisdom.
I press my lips against your wet yes! and all this is January-nettles for jam.