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Compliments
How beautiful is the snowshine in your eyes, so directly current from the static in your brain.
The seared runes crossing your divided consciousness do speak of contemptuous cardinals setting a spanish villa ablaze.
Together your hair tastes fully as the tree grown honey of Baracasada.
In caressing your follicles I am only vaguely reminded of the bitter harvest.
The tiny sounds of ancient bees resound forth from the forrested coercions between your toes.
May you always find naked women to throw tiny pickles at you and coo in oblivious delight at your witty, urbane opening of foreign post and packages.
Courtesy of the Surrealist Compliment Generator
The seared runes crossing your divided consciousness do speak of contemptuous cardinals setting a spanish villa ablaze.
Together your hair tastes fully as the tree grown honey of Baracasada.
In caressing your follicles I am only vaguely reminded of the bitter harvest.
The tiny sounds of ancient bees resound forth from the forrested coercions between your toes.
May you always find naked women to throw tiny pickles at you and coo in oblivious delight at your witty, urbane opening of foreign post and packages.
Courtesy of the Surrealist Compliment Generator