Combustion

Mildew mops are prevalent only in oily sandstorms. Ah, said the furry scorpion the witche's brew has collapsed causing wisdom from the inner triangular arc. When racing with ducks pay no heed to flapping as water can be corroded from a single feather clap. Frisking in a fragile petal isn't really an issue as arrival of hats signify a reality so absorb the great truths contained in a shell. In one given moment a building could develop sea legs and urchins could wade then do battle in a seven metre pit. Wash away curly costumes and whirl the plugs in a mesmerizing circular formation. Birthing a born book of dreams and eradicating the myths of manifested mobile lie. A peach arriving at a maths table is a pleasant face but sitting in a pattern is nit very wise as alpha rays can digest many underlying weather patterns so why would one belch at an antique watercolour. Mixing monsters and milking moons. Manipulated mannequins of large breasts. Whilst a skirt is thrown away in a wind to reveal silky nectar between thighs with caress of gold and silver tongues. Gates open can close. To beetles eyes remain sealed. No vast unimportant giant's sneeze in a fight for forever sits the governess in charmed tights. Skintight military is a gathering of visionary monks. And lions roar on many boats in the arc of the equator. But semi equilateral is the triangle under which ancient truths are rife. Ingest not a tidally formed pie. Purposes of an organic fruit tree underwater. Cosmetic cats argue over lipstick prices. And markets make a grand exiting bow to a deficit dump in ever increasing noises. Is now or never nowhere and nobody. Painting a hall with a bucket of soda. And dance in hallways of timber. One two three one two three. Count in count down. Radio. Radioactive. Radius. Rid. Rid. Rabbits. Rampant. Ramparts. Rampages. Right. Risky. Rusks. Xx talismanic glows. Xx fireflies. Xx. Combustion