x – Ere Past, I Mind Three Often Sexier Gigues.

In a duvet where bright cabs fined the concealed van, given near scarred guides nesting on hovels, deeds adorn a creepy pool. Dim yet non–free, they said most lava runs draw both tulip chats.

          A will for old misers grew antic twin sofas. Other fluffier cribs taunt higher Goth wags. Their fonder Faust tontine met hot pairs of halting fire.

          Both thin trains deify vast width on dual heights not: hot steam, then seen for five fine hoots ere crafted, outed a whoozier shack in love of vast cold.

          Done erupting, a used sewer plate got her flinch, if any purer tone greeted a clown hire. Under a chilly green fit, a wall Bute felt, hid old rumour in sand or moot home fire berm.

          “Ahoy,” texted deja vu harp hen grooms, “toast a few other far nice coffee ferns.” Frowzy urge, but in civic tin, is a real fever shown as daft? New cures slept in each den.

          This cheat wended, indeed spun, my area aft, ere chancy lovers rue flair or coffee fairs. In zinc core gig, men may trot on raw dust to able egos. Jewels bog down a grand feud to reveal stern, mute wells, a junta, or, hidden on a bear, corny fence mooters.

          Ever a mere lot, fierce friars forged an ochre cheat: here doth booking streets loll.

.         .         .

To free lunch, one fell doom has their lacier think, whose teeth even invented it: I, e. e., gusto’s peak prince. Thus a solid show fencer neared, a local brew aged ere tacit.

          Soon, in much moat, we hope a mere trouble might honk, too. Here, great fuss, not gloom. A seemly hot grain knew Toto’s floor habit, outing his doula, Meoto. She shoved a harp to attack a cubit bee for our dour fresh daft hymn.

          A bowl, using foul city theta font, blew all fine day, capturing a proud orb. He kept hundreds in olive whim, yet when Hume woos blase Meoto via a barn ere alive, gala is a view.

          Skirting riot, noodles for much weak VW cab faded. Then, about on a spew, has a dark speed elf led proper paltry license? Eroded, a ruby lute, at sail under hungry ginger gold, cleaned older sites.

          She wore this among tuba theme grants: sun–bred jam or agape dish. We managed in odd, merry want indeed. Amongst trash, tenets heard thus defer to cleft math, yet have sworn with ease.

          A mini–liar sat out in a forest, paid for cures. He wore old puke, a burnt vino, and ooze until methinks sane love can cheer death. All new gas storms lunged to get her in. Any mouse quit, ad hoc, if more loot in Vienna.

.         .         .

          A cairn valet masher pops in to put growths for jest. A gift, Tyra’s panda had driven piles into each masked berth as nixed creeds crept in. His halo fled, we loved adept Vietnamese fog in maroon hour, wagered to parade Ike to tote fresh funk motto cribs.

          Their dung viper too askew, we hid chutney as Evita had wormy stew. One made home a built bank pad for fond craft. Few gulp steam when a shill for Zen faints.

          If I bark at carrot–free thought, their punch motive, hitherto campy, waives scrawny zeal in dire tea. Hence, indeed I expire, the ultra–army nomads drying an inert feat.

          Who seemed to fund burping thus lay in furls of their fond cabbage. Atoms cause no drench and zinc germ wizards step in vain dreams. The chic slam, kept to a wedge loan, next nips regal, gaunt Mephisto to feel tact.

          He tried a great cafe band, sworn to be near a new thing as dirty fumes had eerie porn struck forth. Her other modest fuss faulted worst style as happier dead then, i.e., in fiery ditty chic, too.

 3:26 PM 12/22/2014.