The torque

Hidden amongst all the swirl a twisting sanguine tone, rested a lather to hush and demand the frayed hope of hold; netted in a turquoise match of my aquaplane, onto the explain, this fond mocha disproving a lash tight shockingly heart rendering love of her fulsome critique. They were lonely eyes of apprehension, the placement to proud to let slip, by lying twice, including a couple of whom I fond of, found one tallying lash too many.

2019 Adam Blewett ©