OXANVIL
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Your torture cups the cusp of entirety like a tail wagging in the face of a wanton gigolo – tendered to the teeth that bite down on the nipple of the fully astute. Let’s call a spade a spear and dig deep at a deeper meaning. Too many jaws are a simply threat to the fish, and lacking a night of grazing on land, are left furnished just so before the finish linex.
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Such the hippo stench that floats, if only barely by barely pool results.
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You make the desperate sacks of fat asses full of fat people tears seem like a common response to hygiene. Turkey that mission along the lines of reach and pool it in a cleaning rectum where cleaning is clearly to be done.
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Normally, we would clear this unclean result as a fiction, but all this life attracts predators, all of us, like sharks seeking blood seeking sheltery.
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An opportunity so frank it’s fucked.
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NOTES ON “OXANVIL”
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X Of no proper response to the relation of the tail, it’s a tired trope that clownfish still adhere to.
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y Of no proper response to the relation of the cubby, it’s whored and holed as much as it is.
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