_Fear & Swans Itch_ [ 8 ] by John Lowther

That I wanted to kiss him, in the

Long tunnel toilet waiting for my line, they said

But I don't think so. Through with little

Goldfish games. A queue of swans in the dim.

Itch's feather, sewed into poet's pillow, will ensure.

Flower essence tubes crackling like pigs

Salted in their afterlife, tasty in the wound.

When the breeze, bend the breeze. Not

For nothing I brought yes here. Say ja with me.

Caress car crashes less its a pedestrian

Stadt. Who gets angry at the sunshine, swans

Can. Swans, a can and itching them

Remembered me a dream of Ayran

An unsweet yogurt beverage

& some show streamable

& cheating swan glasses on

Scratch that. And you thought fishing

Was boring and dumb. Peel off your hands

Again and again and balm the hind parts.

What umbrage means.

No comments:

Post a Comment