pretty little, 45 to 48
True I had the corner of the mouth, a resemblance adamant, expensive. I feel between about my making nonmetrical. I think your flattered excitement looks like morning, like the hymns I love most. And nausea beats, it could be for her. Sleep chants used, something about you in my little chest. Remind me uncomfortably, a song I say. Just kiss the corner of one another to oblige.
The poem, around my mouth it disturbs. I open my eyes in hymn, large and delicate. So constantly around sleep. To praise ornate, with a white lace displaying of one another. My only thought is of you and porcelain. Spontaneity makes mentionings, appears a strange man in my canticle. His size varies from tiny confident, only just remembered that I was, too. I can't help but to cantillate, to chant large constantly for us. He tried to intone the crystal truth that I’ve mentioned to him so. His arm around me, we capered; champagne could never be much. I declined with a tired dance, the flute crowding him. A year he left in a lively, delicate display. Undoubtedly I heard playful plays softly, a dry sense for which I never think. The shower is formal, old-fashioned, which I like but don’t look for.
When he came back, he was a person placed. Neatly was he in the high-pitched laughter on a street. I’m sure dressed, tending to lapse. Last night seeing him again, blue objections still bouncing in bed. An effect tucked in. I reeked of carapace; my skeleton, rotting rotting away. I’m getting boring, of course. Insouciance seeping from my protective lounge, from my colorless ages and orifices. And flesh, decorative or disgusting, emerald eyes that always matter.
Meet someone in a half shell, buxom, buxom… cute but asleep. After an hour I was light, automatic and ruby, nearly colorless. Up north to hear this, my decorated hair pearlescent. in the negative weather so beautiful, desire supporting the skin. Minutes I knew to never stop time. Coffin of amethysts it wasn’t to see. Awkwardly distinguished she sang, and as usual I, beautiful in my still funeral, will slowly think had fallen asleep.
True I had the corner of the mouth, a resemblance adamant, expensive. I feel between about my making nonmetrical. I think your flattered excitement looks like morning, like the hymns I love most. And nausea beats, it could be for her. Sleep chants used, something about you in my little chest. Remind me uncomfortably, a song I say. Just kiss the corner of one another to oblige.
The poem, around my mouth it disturbs. I open my eyes in hymn, large and delicate. So constantly around sleep. To praise ornate, with a white lace displaying of one another. My only thought is of you and porcelain. Spontaneity makes mentionings, appears a strange man in my canticle. His size varies from tiny confident, only just remembered that I was, too. I can't help but to cantillate, to chant large constantly for us. He tried to intone the crystal truth that I’ve mentioned to him so. His arm around me, we capered; champagne could never be much. I declined with a tired dance, the flute crowding him. A year he left in a lively, delicate display. Undoubtedly I heard playful plays softly, a dry sense for which I never think. The shower is formal, old-fashioned, which I like but don’t look for.
When he came back, he was a person placed. Neatly was he in the high-pitched laughter on a street. I’m sure dressed, tending to lapse. Last night seeing him again, blue objections still bouncing in bed. An effect tucked in. I reeked of carapace; my skeleton, rotting rotting away. I’m getting boring, of course. Insouciance seeping from my protective lounge, from my colorless ages and orifices. And flesh, decorative or disgusting, emerald eyes that always matter.
Meet someone in a half shell, buxom, buxom… cute but asleep. After an hour I was light, automatic and ruby, nearly colorless. Up north to hear this, my decorated hair pearlescent. in the negative weather so beautiful, desire supporting the skin. Minutes I knew to never stop time. Coffin of amethysts it wasn’t to see. Awkwardly distinguished she sang, and as usual I, beautiful in my still funeral, will slowly think had fallen asleep.
