Today is a sunkenship day indeed. My heart will NOT go on, as so illustriously promised. You see, I have fallen into a severe and ingrown depth of amorosity. It seems as though all opportunities of succession fail me, and I come to conclusion that my only release is that of love, and that is where I have befallen yourself. Perhaps I have indebted myself too to many of these, and this love is wherefore I stand.
I am in riverrun canyons love with a friend of my mother's.
Nelta, she remains. It is in this purpose that I extend my gratuitous feelings towards her. Nelta, are you reading my portrusions? They emanate from my bosom more heavily than free flowing ducts release their sap, more perfunctorily than the dreams of a fargone boyhood aftershore benign, more sharply than the glass which shimmers on dull lake waters, more beverly than summertime in the winter, more slight than the moon slices the pavement blade deep.
It is this... eliptically.
Since then my focus on my preoccupations blithely hinder on the untowards. I can not focus cohesion, do you know how I met you, Nelta? I thought you may. In a bitter hovel I frequent, bereft of decency and nowhere near as suave as that of my dear sweet sister instead, my mother's. Those eloquent games around tables that crave support, all night, and your sweet visage upon the watch. Nelta!
So, without great affair simply set to the addage, and proverb of our times. I still go on, but not without her, whose broad shoulders set a tune to the time, whose lack of defining and most horrid facepaint reveals her stately qualities, whose gentle facial fuzz I long to caress, whose muscular ripples find event in the case.
Let me stroke you? The gentle prickles sooth my mind, and I feel only as I ever have with One other. Him.
From now on I privately adress all our correspondance through Blog. We will meet again soon.
Must be Wainwright week
1 week ago