Under the queen-sized bed.

Under the vintage house.

Hyped for hypogeum?

Or, just for a mauled mouse?

But, sometime afterwards…

Up in caretaker’s arms.

Uplift boosts kitty’s mood.

Thoughts, though, remain grounded—

For that is where is food. ; )

Sans flora, photos in the sense of a stoned space, structured to echo wild calls, reflected strict silence; defaunation had hit not only the bipeds, but, as well, creeps of the crevices, rodents of the risers, and wings of the windows. ; )

Kelp unfound by sunbeams had always beared bitter flavour matching its frowsty scent, so Terri, not unlike a solar compass, ever pointed her headings towards well-lit whereabouts, hoping to find herself amidst a lea of sea-greens both titillating in taste and appealing in aromatics. ; )

They figured at eight, hoping to in-loop each other about all the happenings since their last round of conversation. Fortunately, any future failures regarding feats of forwarding feet were based on falsidical fears fettered by fixed focusing. ; )

The old man, Hemingway, upon his preferred place of the open sea, happened upon fabled cousin of Moby-Dick, Rosy-Rick, engaged in the production of a cacophony—as she tried to tame the shrewd aves claiming much ado about nothing whilst tempest of the horizon set forth to arrive on twelfth night of coral-coloured cetacean’s bardolatry. ; )