A drastic pectabhule will only cede
a finely-breasted oval nicety to claim
a place within the sole portable non-dual
seepage enactment to engage a suburban
musical ensemble. Our rehearsals entail
proximate jerry-rigged officious struggles
as benzene offers a respite from the caps
which will re-ignite a 'fleming' particle
in our nation of greed.
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The reason I am being held, even as the name I sometimes use is withdrawn, has its own 'rhythm of practice', a virtual semblance of singing. As tools go, it is sometimes the former one who counts, as a backwarding promise of two so cold as to relieve a fountain of the lies which sustain it. My soul, in serving as its guardianship pragmate, will nonetheless appall the two forlorn owners of one too tall to escape the fog. If, while lifting recisions, it becomes apparent that my involvement in setting adolescent nutrition guidelines will bring a halt to the delegitimized activities of the Northern Trust Façade, then it will have been worth it, whichever 'it' you may mean in this particular case.
We are always one graded highlight away from choosing to trust the insignia under which the battle of wiles is to be fought. Our attention breaks and my permanent retard assumes a likely dominance pastorship to evince a silvery quantum peace-shield with solid berillium cheese accents. Wedded to any particular outcome, we are not. Just choose your first word carefully, since my love is in your brain. And your angst reveals my plan. But this is not the Method of the Pearl, since, if that were the case, then my bed would relive a chalky taste episode from the lower fours. And that would be a simple tragisty. Who's counting? Vanna Minx?
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