Prints of Persia
Across a flame in the prints there were steps wrapped up in an ology.
The camps set petitions on suiting; too true for dull as trousers. One summoned a bitch to steal a heart. The bitch wore off with currant buns. Stock of an after birth went for gold; bronze that led a golden recovery.
Those were the days’ they convuluted, easing curls with cuddly jumpers. Like Roman Bishops of Tesco, selected pains on restorative. Lines of glandular punctures; descendants of chaos. That’s why we had to organise, thought pug. There were two sets of legs with stringent clumps of welsh leeks; founded bound an allotment.
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