Precipitation plus

Shut shops…

With weariness—

Oppugnant order—

Wets appetite

Of all is right

Until

Granted entry‘s

Graced space

Irresistibly taken. ; )

That cake take is neither tuna nor caviar.

A fiery puddle of atrophied Spam tartare?

Look, no classic, chic bancal needed for a slice,

But neither will mash meriting a spork suffice.

Awful offal offer has me too unamewsed;

Bucks on dessert deluxe or claws on you infused! ; )

Oh, the nose is twitching a la sniffles

And impending are eyes cataractine,

So, as well, with ears almost drooped to floor,

No keeping bun from beta-carotene! ; )

Feeling a bit too boxed and desiring a new point of view,

Mick invited over his long-distanced mate from the Outback,

Who enchanted him with historical tales of Uluru

[Whilst scanning scant scene] until at him he poked deserved borak:

“What a spiffy place—not so nuanced, but definitely new—

And its colour could camo an ecru emu’s sneak attack!” ; )

Margot’s part in the ay had come to an end and, now, as her mind was beginning to—appropriately—mind the mundungus of her attire whilst yearning for the antithesis of the last third of a day, she was able to hang up just enough of her hangover to push herself into a brush and bathe before plopping upon the cot—into whose ought she wish she had last night bought and on which sharing her debauched scent she did not want—for a reprieve of the eve as held yawn met the dawn and soul roughed got refluffed. ; )