Cigarette noir as temptation. Grand era of soda!
The point, our own bra soiled with sherry. Die Ann.
Lie, Vera. I’ll vent: Oh!, stop! Your bra and lap penury.
My face as an easy calm anchor. I’m a fruit? Oh! A stream, oh!
Confetti, archers, ungrown diet tempura.
Chill. Fruit jungle, a mature eat for me.
Belgrade wine is the ultimate supper.
Cheese, not queso in Odessa. Melted lava.
Cheese oil in a soiled lung, good, but old.
Ledger of a negligee, my lungs foiled.
Scribe it. Insert it. Soul vs. Torturer.
Soul wins. Flawless victory. Fatality.
Doves nullify in the air. Flutter in the fog.
— Peter Burzynski