THIS IS AN EXAGGERATED OR HYPERBOLICAL EXPRESSION OF PRAISE. And SHE wears her Holocaust hand-cream like an angel in disguise (the skies), all brutality and no actuality.
And he speaks of HER as though the world were her weapon of crass construction carries with it these vagabond vegetables for flaming fingernails – an upside down, crash-course FEMME FATALE who vilifies this pill-popping lifestyle via nature’s favourite self-proclaimed aphrodisiac.
Matter. Of. Fact.
A. Learned. Lesson. In Comfortably. Failing.
Upon Hard Groundings.
Right from the insides
of their wrought-iron, over-wrought, visually hormonal male nocturnal-noised ear aside eye-sight –
Fiery, fairy-featured … steady-faced … even incredulously kindly at being …
Decidedly roll-a-dice death-rimental.
At being …
The soul shit-sure beneficiary of the world. SHE drinks from the well-wisher’s glass of dreams. Happy. Happy.
And SHE shall finally feel fuksake fabulously, deeply, dastardly dipped in sane (insane, even?)
For SHE will lay the law of the pitter-patter puddle by the bothering break of their Reebok running pedestrian feet … until they eventually get to see.
What SHE says for Herself, while they sprint paint dry
A shelf life – of three thousand strenuous years and SHE is only just getting to letting HERSELF started again … at taking THEM apart – high-Art arbitration.
Welcome to The Emasculating Enunciation.
Wherein, ladies aside head-bopping mental-men, mentally maladjusted multi-funtioners of OURS, you have been delicately served your crash-course in sizeably sacrilegious undertone.
Cold, if we must … trust in these heralded genius traits.
Of hyperbolic HERS.
Delivered upon a penny-farthing bike.
And they do say that her rear is smaller than the front side of LIFE.
Twice as sprightly. Thrice as kindly giving.
Sweet mercy of OURS.
All of it silkily-skinned HERS.