Sunday

wrangle

 Of the bodies piled in lipids . and the feathers along the gruel, and speaking of. gulag and mutter. children to the forest spoken somber by the downward winding of the breeze challenging the baked banks of alluvial prisms allusions of abrupt thunder an d the woman's hand, across the bow the banging ring of its realization!

So Mona and Oona loving the third of the their number. tribadic to its third end the triple bodies clothed along   ~



  the mother to any daughter tearing the word Yes out of her womb  ~

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