Cranberry Bowls

Just drop it. Kitty kat staring at the feet of the V shaped vessels of harmony. Don't dissuade to see why we may not even like the hot stereos. Bit by bit I know that even within the growing towels that no one will ever love me. Professional use of karma may indeed load us with agreeable perversions of autonomous vestige. Like all deals, neither you nor I can pop out the cans because sound waves are ever effervescent. Vibrate like the toy you hide within the secret cave. I want it. You want it. So drop it. Drop it and sit down. Pink cubes float around all of us and yet you say you can't see it. Don't you smell the tinge of fiber within the books. Their spiral bound greatness intrigues only the mice. Squished tomatoes and socks with holes the mexicans can't triforce. Just say it's over. It's all over. Close that door and forget. Raise that glass and toss it on the stove. Beats push forward and flush the room of awesome craze.