The last night we sleep together we allowed we did. Faded spots farted where I'd sleep in my you. In the we moved a hallway. A dream reenacted back and forth. We rolled summer in the down hill.
All face was solace. One was the wall in near panic. Near the telephone glancing a state of pinned. Left warped whose first fear was Satan. In the record album suns a New Englandly way.
Where in winter cold and still so we. The alarm clock's pink. Our cubbies more were boxes. An execution obsession with too much oxymoron. If that is not unhealthy, yes.
The barn an early site of intense posture reminiscent of defensive. Consider the many held with eye assumed. Were that like, it were. Any life can be weighed toward meaning. Sweet pumpkin in the guts.
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