Let's call it Nazi hot. Let s say we start sweating like Jews as if in boxcars marking time because we ve become incorrect . Know if you will our fate is certain, like a wood pile shrinking, now believe the smoke as theory and you'll feel the spark. They survive grouped in little bell jar places cool and damp where the orange lichen clings, and the old ash and plum, the whole moist patch smells a green heaven. I learned true history is but dig or pluck.
Irish eyes do dance.
Shorelines, those tribes uncharted. When we hunt, the Cougar will notice. Females sing me color scented. We know from birth the requirement to experiment or die. The walking away.