A profound idea to start with:
Sex with the woman of your dreams during a midnight opera. In other words, in any light, I shine bright, even during a midnight sonata. Sweet entendre. The beat marauder, the complete and elite Godfather, kissing the ring when I visit as Karma. Reaping and sowing, you're thinking, I'm knowing. So why even bother? No limit, invincible armor. Leaping and growing, my very speaking, is the flowing multi-published author whose prose is composed as "liquid Lake Sovereign." This writing is your hobby. This writing is my coffin. I'm often in a space where I get lost in Savant exhaustion. Other words preferred? I am my only competition, so rhymes are shadowboxing. This wish could be outpatient, but who insured detoxing? Because when it comes to this, my ish is swift in the persuasion of mutually-assured paradoxing.
Look...I guess what I am trying to say is this:
Sixteens are slipstreams; sequence the genes, please. Sick schemes still sift dreams, intend will to scene squeeze. So it all depends on if we send teams to mend griefs. A breath of fresh air expunged in the Spring breeze. Over two decades, leaving out-of-place artifacts linking future inklings. So cast your shades against interweaving compensating pace-of-race for you, the clueless weaklings. I crossed the line again and tossed it aside again. Discarded, disregarded, too hard to follow, too hard to swallow, got your girl Poseidon my kin. We all lie in sin; Mine? I'm too divine with this. It all started as this rhyme is to remind you to look for the floppy disk. Encode the scroll. For those who know, this feels ominous. No hope to top this or stop this. My entire presentation is anomalous. Been dope-like ghetto markets still push hope in pure thoughtfulness. And to ensure you reach competence, say it in thirty-two sentences? I am exposing a greater synthesis to de-escalate your defensiveness.
FREE J5.
------------- Receiving backhanded compliments from Orion since 11-28-13.
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