Wednesday

old hut

Could it abide nothing less than the truth? The falsehood that we're married. We came along the country lane comparing detail. Ah saying this one is hers that his. Their arms enclosed in a camel dowry. What ship for design is this? This is the one she fair bore to its nevertheless piece. Theory never helped you. My darling foot. Nor weep the pillows of glad-hello goodbye . God bye otter to its fearful kissing.


(Triumph now that was not too . YEs, difficult you old tussy . Bored by this whoredom of praxis the deepest revolt gets going only to stop midway. ) (You old shitbag from assumed schizophrenia to millionaire paranoiac panic)


It must be Sherwood forest and the death of the campaign. She's held the disco long time gone. Her gasworks are fussy.





Prepare to meet your maker. Taking off the sari the gown the djeballa. She's got mascara round her hips. Her thighs are stage left Strange.R than friction. Its the goosed quill honey pie. Kiss my .

Not waited she stammers against her lover's face. A nose to pry loose from a painting by an old master.