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Perry. A dramatic hippo. Grandly opening his jaws and yawning melodious guffaws in an empty hall. Dotted with periwinkles and outfitted in a pink chemise just made for him, adorned with garlands of white silky carnations. Ivory lace to beautify the voluptuary. Style and panache mix mesh slitheringly along rounded hips curling inward at the naughty bits. A stroke of genius, an air of wit, he promenades and wistfully waves a hand in exultations of Perry’s aperitif. Mellow yellow thin cakes and white wine laid bare on gleaming silver. Gnosh little bites in soloist luxury trumpeting the arrival of destiny’s carpet roll.

Finicky frumpy water buffalo roam gallantly through miserly tide pools doused with the jealous lover’s gasoline dreams. Smoke on the water, tainted blood on the lamb. Big brutes tiptoeing across sepia ponds into the blue horizon of neverwinter nights. Bbq cue scaring little ones calling mama from the fray. The darlings jump and squeal at the heels of meandering munchers. Brown shags showing tufts of gray as years languish into memory faded. Season is over and the herd moseys onward, distancing itself from perennial feasts of flesh. Saggy necks and sloppy masticating jaws grinding wet meat packets drizzled with sauce.

The Baconites. Life’s little devil come to chomp and chew the fat of minstrel mammals kidnapped from the teats. Taken, like little blond girls that pollute the news cycle awakening sympathy and righteous action. The husky food boobs tromp and march towards final calls remembering the smells of their kin folk. The machine devours all into patties for the market. Mass consumption lines tables and pockets. Circle of life giveth.  Olly olly oxen free.

Priestly prince Presley shakes and rolls for humdrum swayers looking lazily into store windows flickering light shows. Monochrome hubbub signing signs of the times. Men of importance, distinction, beaming calm words to sober a nation. Liars spouting tales to tantalize and infect viewers and listeners. Radios, jukeboxes, all manner of speakers speaking days of our lives to echo through the ages. Aged scouts reminiscing and harkening to the glory of olden days made sweet by time and emotional impressions. Stamped and dated nostalgia pristine in black and white minds. Better days recalled amid the hustle and flow of modern society. Standstill picture the background of comparison made lush by critics of culture.

Days rolling on in passion frenzy orgies of rosewater servings. Lacquered bronze and wood paneled walls framing a neo cosmopolitan  avant garde likeness of the nude age. Supple breasts quiver and dance the dance of boychik dreams, flattering soft nubs to polite awakenings, timidity courting lust under covers. Steely bodies and buns bending and moving to the tom tom beat asking for easy payments. Daydreams and desires scurrying around adolescent heads topsy turvy from unfettered carnality. Rosy lips pucker up baby doll’s sweet melody for clunky misfit drooling. Fantasy doled out to fat head big heart boys stung sore by Eros in the sheep’s pen looking for Mary. Life unfurls a mystery you learn to detect, love’s kiss is searching so google a clue.

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