Tag: collage

Be

Apple keep carry crawl leave give tangle arrange need prevent bounced laughing shack be stop eerie lounge language inebriated open jackhammer elevator lollipop seed briefcase people rankle belief yellow fused gasoline drank tanker dank plank balance swallow follow hut friendships gyrate gluten palace

Tea

Beep toward years of comfortable ennui in twin champagne glasses on a tabletop tennis championship fruitcake anniversary gel tank top candy bar. Weep onto the thoroughfare in cowboy boots spray painted with blue and pink. Lovely lasagna breezeway Cadillac tea underneath crinkle cut potatoes with lots of ketchup dangling from the rooftop in a potted plant.

Ralph

Goliath seeps through puddle macaroni headsets in columbine zebra moves. Calculating, zero time capsules come together on Indian southern pacifist kangaroo tarantula knowledge levels. Belief, sacks of wool, Ralph rude tangled toothpaste tubes and variety show realization wonderful weaves come across the TV as confetti populism creature films.

Knot

Amen to the Leroy concupiscence leaning on the everlasting farmhands ritualize breathing treatments overwhelming transistor radio days in the middle of a sanctimonious seizure on three barstools love on soap sprinkles of chocolate glee in mocha syrup to make it not so likely Reynolds wrap teasing on glossy rainbow tantrums never to behold a cascading weekly docket of solid rear trap nickel queens believing not

Breathe Up

Anniversary pickles dream myopic Transylvanians. Honestly, predicaments bring salt and textual amphibians. Sellers transfuse blabber mouth orangutans. Christological suntan beefcakes travel above glaciers and alligators moronically speaking. Can two deep Texan chowder breath stultifying cyber linguists connect inside a medium high shower candle? Neat. Breathe up.

All

Face frog fans phone types ineligible for fancy flows. Do you like Mikey Renfroes? Friends following end zone Pointdexters, caveman blues in zero Fallopian tubes. Can you make it to the fresh leaves, the crumpled laundry heads, the screaming tattered nudes. Leave me here—I don’t want to go with you to the Who’s Who in Animal Training All Over the World. Blue, blue: 24 Blue! Jack jumped into the blue Oldsmobile in jalopy jeans until the fallen green hell surfers die.