introduce her to the mysteries of astronomy,
so that one day she'll fly to meet her ancestors
via Milky-Way Airlines.
Now my Mr.D claims 1000 pink pebbles in order to keep my ficus.
The divorce papers though recyclable,
alow me only four hours per month, in his no-view balcony
under an austeric supervision,
but what am I without my pourus leaf to cry on?!
Though if I had 2000 marsh-mellows,
I would hire Julian's retarded ego,
to type till bleeding my three-pages-biography
and sign then at the bottom:...X.
But as the recyclable cow and the retarded ficus,
along with Julian's phosphorescent ego
are not for sale...
I will order some mysteries, under a four hours pink supervision,
buy the bottom airline and send my Mr.X to its ancestors.









thanks for the comment,Vi!
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