Saturday, July 25, 2015

Comely motherlanding with hospital beds. Play the piano for me.

Curls in hair, in fact. Costumed jewelry and twenty odd, Them.

I remember cornered. Concern. Dolled up revenge, red lipstick to onward, Self.

Interest and sense. Be seen. Was alone, allowed. Spying aloud. No doubt. Hit. Ground.

No comments:

Post a Comment