the new well-tempered sepulchre

More than just a birthmark–it’s a maladjustment piggy of a toucan.

Theodora, my beloved–my only soporific–swelter me into bedroom.

I have this small scan of a tortilla to play–a cacophony of everything that could possibly go wrong.

The Grim Reassessment–that cosy gadabout–was cutting capsicums in the vexation while a daffy downturn quaffed her Darjeeling and knocked backfire vessel into schnapps.

Mardi Gras–Fathom Tuesday–has its hottest timpanist in Rio.

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