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Man is what he makes of himself - Sartre.
We'll make us: from you and me.
"Oh something like this: to fictionalize love!" - sighs mural:
graffiti pants: and: you are waiting for me
leaning against the wall "al fresco":
and:  we'll mason a traverse through the galaxy.
My thoughts are crystallizing in rhomb system already:
and: cardinality of your light bra:
"the cardinality of set with two elements is two"
:the skin on that french kiss:
Samantha Fox and her poster bravado:
tadpoles and Venice.
August fleetly.
The weight - a deployment of matter in the cosmos
fundamentally affects the quality of spacetime - 
and therefore it is necessary to be naked for us.
The hair with a hint of bourbon: your lovely clit:
a dissolvent: burgundy band: 
and I will be begging like this:
"but Honey: please: I ate your bubblegum back then!!"
Stick for your raised lips: there is a pink lake in Australia
and no one knows why.

And hands can be freed by terror - 
you have to tear off your wings: if you want to do that ant work:
only then: we'll raise the cups to aphids health -
we'll meet together in hysterical fancying duel - 
after Christmas dinner we'll ring with toilet bell -
only then: you'll forget about dummy taste of mimicry: 
and obvious travesty of peacocks:
and a stir in photos -
you'll forget in what circumstances the fences are:
forget about uproarious hurray: clouds with their swoons: 
will be only breasts predetermined to contact here: 
and litmus paper in the gala of ribbons - only the liveliest 
and the most passionate 
leap second before pinnacle:       and years of it: