Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Old Thymen Stoories



Here, love is satiated in an eternally brilliant tedium.
Here, plants are superhuman gleaming temples.

For love, the execution of a fatally corporeal mind.
For breasts, a pile of the suavest lives, erectile pillars.

Between forms, illegal spirits shine, extra-fortified Aussies.
In quibbling fathers, post-genital, post-funerary vivants.

A series of naturally vacuumed labia become abundant lectern.
Clara alights on mica given by a corrupt supplier.

Leni knows sailing, and she has placidly dreaming aureolas.
Happy Cymba kneels to the all-vitamin, King Aether's implet.

Squids make a nappy note.
My tibia got stuck in Medusa's opossum adders.

A sad fiber is pre-recording all of love.
A latent pectoral has collustrated serene light.

Glumen fluid Aerius, treat yourself to an obscure name.
The ill bull of omnium is cussing your salubrious star.

No more of your campy decorations, red vitreous herbs.
The omniscient flower gives liquor.

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