|
2007-04-16 - 10:51 p.m. {{{{{ralph waldo emerson choked us, tin the autumn mornings}}}}} like ivy wanting to go back and flip through what are now digital pages {{{{{Indian Music, horns, gloves and saphron-pitched doves}}}}} the sound of wind dancing the trees in sickness or health some quick autums and several some years & she can still love latest leaves even as teeter-totters collapse-- puberty masked my brain like how the colorado river fucked up Arizona and if there are Ivy formulas like lipstick defined kisses without delays {{{{{several stud like horrors occasioned mint sprigs for whiskey)}}}}} will you manure me these smells Friday Fresh
|