𝖯lain, generic, and, sweet. 𝖲omething that just can’t be beat. 𝖳he irony of so many. 𝖵anilla is not of any. Godly silk of milky white and an Understatement of unrequited affection. 𝖲he lies supine waiting for vanilla to pick a side. 𝖩ust above the rim of the cup, vanilla built all the way to the top, with No mix-ins, an overscoop just for you, and a smile on the side too. 𝖲even o’three is what is going to be. 𝖲even o’three and a firm grip on me. 𝖸es the irony of choosing originality when its the exact opposite of what you preach 𝖤specially in between the sheets. 𝖨ndeed nothing to write home about just a medium cup of soupy iced cream. 𝖠 flavor so **** sweet that’s sadly not for me. 𝖲weet memories in time. 𝖨’ll continue on with vanilla on my mind.
Medium vanilla with no toppings. How ordinary yet you aren’t like of any. vanilla is you but vanilla isn’t what you are. Vanilla isn’t how you play vanilla is what you taste.