No brains make for a luxurious waste but this was not matter but gulnerability. She's a word personage. Not a creeping vine! a mustybust smack of her sapphic self , loving the vines of her lady's tree ~Open the latitudes I have come to make your smooth striate ~ . Of the humpydumpshes' beefed her egg and ragged her moon. Rasp and Caspian sea are her over logs. The rogue park alongthe quais and her English the twisting tongue. Her fruitful fly's bearing soldiers and camarados. Bucaneers on the near buttocks.
Onyx-eared boxed in delicate labyrinthe she doesn't hear a thing a thing ~ .