Did I tell you the story of that girl who made little birds in her room?
Well, she made them out of nifty colours and papers and gently kissed them.
All of them.
The next morning she woke up to ardent tweeters and the smell of phosphate.
That’s how a kiss of life should be, berated the playwright to his actor, gentle and passionate,
with a cherubic tinge of desire.
Well, she made them out of nifty colours and papers and gently kissed them.
All of them.
The next morning she woke up to ardent tweeters and the smell of phosphate.
That’s how a kiss of life should be, berated the playwright to his actor, gentle and passionate,
with a cherubic tinge of desire.
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