I can't wait to partake in things that make you sick. My stomach stays high tide. Stay away from it if you can't swim. My guts are laid out in patterns; peaches and fruit flesh stuck to fingertips.
(**** my **** then give me a kiss.)
I can't wait to imitate art contained in this. Two figures trapped within an unfinished painting. Four strokes of inspiration to complete the lips. A splash of white to end it.