Goddesses blush upon your arrival. Is it survival or just a coping mechanism? Balance on your legs for a thousand centuries and still i’d deny you your certitude. Perfume is a cascade of scents. Fences are reticent at best. What is relevant is not often necessary and what is necessary is rarely self-evident. We select our endings. Like ballplayers place bets on their enemies. We keep the bases clean and covered with dirt. Perfect your hurt and your punishments will be well earned. Lunches are times for nourishment and I am amused by this divertissement.

Plus one please. Receipts are a dollar short and much too cheap. I sleep in pools of butter. Stuttering your way through the crowd. I am proud of my accomplishments.
A lot of stress was mitigated by your watery eyebrows. I am a crowd to myself. Less wealth than merriment. So much mirth and perplexity in the same place. Her body was just a fantasy. Lands of ladies who seek honey for their military campaigns.

I am dreaming of millions of kangaroos, bouncing on top of a plateau.

Join me in the snow. I plowed it all for you. Look into my eyes and read the lines you could not find. I am blind to your joy, like similes of kindness written in braille. The scent of love is hidden between blankets and sheets that you could never again wash clean.