Armpit Apothecary

In order to generate and/or stimulate my occasion I enter the pit where drowsy ennui likes to lurk on the occasion of the lunch. I find myself like a floral confession, better to think back to and laugh. A deal-breaker of combs and we all know it’s exactly the opposite. You’ve done as much before. The skittish slinking of sluts in a time-zone island inhibition. Chunk distinguished by tearing. Hidden by blankets like he was in his brother’s room. Stalked staring, he shows his teeth like they were prizes to trample. The teetering guise of technological peepholes is a reminder of childhood by being with someone so young. Licking the unborn off your fingers and it tastes like life only better, better still to keep it on the monitor like a memory. It will stay there like a throttled ooze and we can problematize this or we can just let it stand as a moment of fact, one that has broad leaves and the rough fruit of hygiene.