Golden hour calls for a genuine day as mettle to conquer begins to rise and soon board will brush waves of pinchbeck’s hue—a winner’s self-graph amid falling crests. ; )

Bubble-echo-ahem! The purpose of your fins is to schlep your porpoise to finally find fish—not to turn your torso so as to tickle my middle with your rostrum-pickle! ; )

Lambency plops, then, splashes. Dusk drops noir mist. Yellow radiates activity. Cutting the steamy dream, protensive bridge takes brights both in and out—as a round of the infinite town. : )

Through fingers’ heddle weaves a ripple of hellos to curious koi, who yearns for food where the other one plays as with a fin-tastic toy. ; )

Regarding window opened for a breeze, but which welcomes, instead, a tormented tease a la the foil of a scroyle screaming an obscene scene: inside the room requires entity tossed out the womb via the ajar view-loom, whereas outside the space necessitates a spicy liquid akin to Mace tossed via the cleared case onto their face. ; )