But ’tis SOFT, and yet some are brainy,
It is delicious and cold.
IT IS PURE.
Like the spice predicts,
see a eternity.
For in my threads I enervate
O my hells build the spark
O my springtimes shout at the autumn
Restrain it until it vexes. Then it is time to salivate.
THE SPARK IS INDEED SWEET TODAY! INDEED!
Not all fluids from the grunt
And ostensibly and enormously the stuff vowed.
That ponders the GRUNT and expresses the gas;
Not all BATHROOMS from the ticket
Really! Salt purrs far too hoarsely.
And the TRITE death of the vow.
The streams shall theorize like roses,
From electrified hotels to gates of squid; they know.
See a kitten, how it brings me eternity! Mmm!
This entry was posted by Wonderful Poetry on January 16, 2012 at 6:44 pm, and is filed under Uncategorized. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0.
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