Saturday

if a buddhist trope

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  Jill knows better than to do this__ it reaps of the one  the sun  winking farthest from  "the come along" pass, 
          a rude thing made of star fetched night!


A knight! fain would see her severalling selves, around a twister, a tornado of busted grapes,a  loose wain to the wondering gown. It precedes this way, hovercraft to a maligned    blank spot. Not that it escapes necessarily the s but  surely it stammers piece  by piece to the bisexual hourglass a woman's body in night.





A night again. Again night and gaining ground it's gainsaying what makes a plateau fevered pitch. A noise gaining ground repetition  redundant  a sound weighing heavier as if it were  a heart not a  plate.




                             You lost it Jill not for every Franny is there  a mink moment. Nor a  Brigid Bardot wondering at the melon of breast. and the heard of what might become a tender peach to the instant of singing and your voice kicking  back what's better. And the  and that      ~ . Unending desire moved with the girl moving back her shallow back and    ~ O the Mouth    ~ .

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