Pylon Python

Ten foot python log then? Well that is a mirror for the senses. First to arrive is a late morning whilst a skipping rope can traverse many waving beams. Travesty when using a pillow. Engrained in a pickle at ninety six degrees. Unfathomable by a curd whose pulsating juices ebb and flow. Like a forestry fauna in a spring printed napkin. Over and over rolls a very fat snail. For its the weather that is sent. In a sentence release. Pointing an iron rock in a clap. And giving a presentation to a sea of prawns. Pretty clam smiles in a soup. Ravishing layers of interlocking legs. In a legal flame. Fish. Fast. Fastened. First-class. *** moonbeams xxxx ding dong. ***