You could say but dont


Mona has a biword husband. She's galore to gorge her. Her meats and friedays her curtains and saturdays. Goaded on she breaks up like a ruining village run over by camp attendants . Is that it? the echo of the golden metro. the olive daring it stays put ever ovaled to sun air wind the tawny breeze ...

If the fields are oleaginous it's because the earth around is humble. and the wet soil's a mouth. her lover lives there. a polyamorous goddess.

Shes tripled the double decker of love.

Raided the poorest of things finding its sage carbon. Uplifted by the emergency of soul.

Would you kiss her? O yes yes ~