...and the goats mooed three times galloping through fields of ginger and bread pudding with a dash of paper bag covering the eyes of the giant yet fertile toilet of swash-buckling knees and tomato you say in that grey tone of credence and jest, prancing around the green hills of sweaty beetroots and quick, take a sip of the synapses firing wildly into madness, the closest friend I have.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.08 seconds at 6:58pm on Nov 27, 2024 via server WEBX2.