Vacation. Gotta say something cheerful for hearing tears roll past rivulets; as glaciers laughingly shed their oceanic ices dripping off cones of fancy.
Pants rubbing sexy; flies abating buzzingly for afor; and thereafter from unbecoming maggots chewing out of alabaster neoned forms slanted brown shadows pulsing red; yet her slighted veined hand powdered by Tiffany laced by deangelo; now rapture closed toward eternity.
Don passes yawns as Monterey baths as three dogs’ night and country Joe.
Where are that what has eluded that new? Left in lurch of something newly? Or the grapes of wrath or sitting at esolen dry mud or deep pools of sage incensed to delirium.
The ultraviolet all consuming the infra red turning all to deep purple.
Gosh. But no .