Sunday with bronchitis girls greens are a breeze with the principles orange. They see who wins. They see who loses face, and who put it there. Are at risk. We bet the buttons.
Sunday going through the wind and we're as cold as ice melted like puppets to look out the window, the light that dazzles and leaves no snapshots. We
with skinned knees and socks stellate. You faceless, silent carriers of bears. Accessibility
down this slope of the race course like ants.
What thoughts do you fools, Temperino.
Beautiful as you are, you go to think? I look
thought I heard a voice, and that's enough of this I am grateful. Sunday
me gifts.
And twirl will not be Only discs of dough, but words and pollen, leaves of Hibiscus and earrings of ivory, laughter and beautiful things you write, rollers, brushes, antibiotics and Enel bills.
Do you believe in me. I'm going gill. Mica joke.
tomorrow then who knows, but today is Sunday and for a time in a long smile really.
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