We Cunningly Gaol

A seamstress believes comatose quasi-redistribution
Of ampoules inspires cunnilingus migration across.

Entire bodices decline corollaries of shorn heaths.
The texts sigh anecdote upon anecdote verily / bruskly.

Waterfalls off numbers nine & seventeen off highway.

Wilds of contentious rhubarbs book it like paradigms.
Ushered in by the likes of “the likes of me walks into a pub.”

Holy is lingo! Infinite our ways! We cunningly gaol!

I say devour your pertinent soap operas, mum.
Crush your fluid macadam to flippant introductions.