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manuscriptx

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The campaign coffers were dry and stale as eating crackers before dawn. I wish I could sit up and drink a cup of coffee in the morning. I use this like I use a retainer, weak and muddling. Stains smell like dogs shifting in the wind. Sip it and spin, roll over and I’ll die.
I never knew life was such a dog house confession of sins dripping with hate fragrance floating over the sand foothills of spender abode. Don’t look up. Don’t see what’s coming at you. Remember, eyes are for the lady tiger in the afternoon, and the nights are filled with oppression. Touch Jesus’ dress and it just might heal you before the haters had a chance to strike. Easter Sunday, a chance to relax, watch football and fondle the women.

My loyal concubine, come here sweetie. Touch me, save me, embrace me, and I’ll last a lifetime. Skin so soft, white powder tells me she’s genuine, eyes shaped like eyebrows, dark and mystifying. Only the right one can mission for this journey. We’ll see.
We’ll see very soon lately.
 
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