I told the mush to meet me by the girl in the bowler hat hanging behind the pine. Perhaps they have not yet arrived due to either yield or stopping sign.
This katzenjammer has me yearning for pillows, blanket, and bed, but if I am to go out like this, I appreciate my eyes will last see these baby blues before turning dead.
Fuzzy brain is reeling and aspin, but epiphanies are also in tow, realising ecocides destroy places while emo-sides artfully uplift locays with their show.
Does that honk mean I have been found and will soon with pillows lay? Cry not, dear lady, for we shall meet again–perhaps, quite soon–as franc in pocket will neither gabelle nor home fare pay. ; )