Ever do you remind me of a staircase falling exotically into a sea of spilled macaroni.I must demand your pleasing chin! How it passes there and back again like a leopard searching for its misplaced frontal lobes.
Your beautiful bulgarian bricks stack like the thousand eyes of Estonian potatos, peering amid fuzzy dreams of corrugated cardboard.
Your eyes glow like naked livers burning in the sun.
The perils of your eyelashes torture my libido into a state of crass belief in Roman Catholicism.
Tribes of primitve hunters, with rhinestone codpieces rampant, should build pyramids of Chevy engines covered in butterscotch syrup to exalt the diastolic, ineffable, scintillated and cacophonous salamander of truth which slimes and distracts from each and every orifice of your holy refrigerator, Sears be its brand.
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