Live with a liquid to try the finest of the fine dining but cut to a spelled scallop lollipop, of the top’s arial awareness of Finesse lotions, the potions of planted motions—standing tall—heifer Hoover vacuum with the maid coming soon, to be revealing and reveling, a Revelation being a sink-full of silver spoons, To The Moon and taking a hit when this is it—I don’t have MMJ and I need the CBD “gummies” that oh shit—calling cattle to get addled, sitting in a slunken cow’s saddle, or a calf albeit do what is aft, to you, with what but a buttercup singing salty, without the herald of her and I… well here comes the Disabled ambling of “scramby”-eggs of ovaries sitting still, in the stomach-abdomen lower within, the also lower the chest of nutter-butter cookies, so fancifully astounded with what three-hundred-and-sixty comes at the umpteenth degree Amen.