Throw salt to get a better grip. A wind almost midnight floods the black parking lot with soft hands.
Your body aches with such precision.
"When I partition, eroding endures yellow as an ivy ventilating." There were these beautiful bleached rings of ice.
"O, I said, I was fidgeting because she brushed against me."
"Stings glint magnificent finger abbies across these consequences now expediting."
Guesswork.
"Unravelling web logic. Sexing pert buttons that drip down your fingers like smoke."
"Your hands are larger than most hands. They inscribe air with beer. Use them for emphasis in conversation. They're big enough to keep Clem away. Clean my behavior of a mania for having. You could use some fun."
Post a Comment