Paint justice on the timpanum to weed the scales of their beleaguered homily fort blue. Lace lovely, sly, and intuition-charmed like lanes come-to. Where worlds from here sopranos light upon the gilt-safe paint so we'll enjoy the house. What tiny fingers you have Martined onto for the neck of this guitar. I wonder who has carried a harmonic pursed and laved. Ivy demonstrates its breeding sanity in nectar words or less. My body scant with shivering what makes a nest a nest. Brianna was her name, a chemotherapeutic twinge. Hypotheses on long walks typify do lunch attentions. Lips precipice our blond brick femur. Claustrophobic in a seven-fold pronunciation of the dowry broken into elements reputed to comprise a world.
Creased into a car that really runs, a game of dominoes, a record of who won
Sheila E. Murphy | Time(tables)
Contents | Mudlark No. 8