The press left geometry emerging from Bloom’s taxonomy in such a brilliant way because artist’s ego never felt any kind of regular pull from the geoid.

At a century, as a rigid barrow-tram, will many complain twixt bouts of regretful recounts, so, at a quarter past three, as a pliant lass, albeit teemed with sassy class, this one begins forming self’s joy as a rainbow me.

While he gets down and dirty with cramming, I will get down with a retro record of ‘dirty’ dance tunes—leaving us both both edaphic and erudite.

Cassie, like cassonade, was both unrefined and sweet, traits that starry wishes had finally granted in the form of a lady who collided into a complement in a way that was never meant to be only dreamed.

Coming…

Maybe…