The quickly severed remarks you made in a state of change. The change evolved into a turpentine of spearmint and it knots your senses and clears your memory and zaps you into a shock of something much more than your hair. The compliments of insanity that goes with the knitting on a winter sweaters, these sweaters hope for snow, so they can cling to your body and keep you warm, garment perversion, but an uncanny tactic that has us delivering ourselves to the perversion quite tastefully. The zen of something chaotic. The screaming voices inside the veins of your lover and you can hear them crashing down on your private areas, you want to pound those screams out of them with the contours of your body, but what is shed is an entirely different sort of scream and still you are left satisfied. A journey through trial and error and we are in error here. The gushing pleasure of error. Mistaking mistakes for actualities and the mistake of this actual mistake is mistakenly mistaken for error.
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