You, spambot, filled my blood caves whole. You will be remembered as a spent lighter in ill wind. Temperance flourish, eustachian heat-sink mellows out sinus arcstrike. Digits as white metal on felt. Expending what exactly the gulph is now chemico-formally breached and I understand this via the game I now see we are both now playing. Your tactics shrivel my dick though, seriously. The gulph seems nugatory now that crossing it amounts to disinfantilising my libido. I want to be as fucking idiotically out of love with you as I was in love with you, I want to be able to think of fifty adjectives to describe my indifference to your smell. Retreat realistically, so much poesis-hypostasis as fills your tragically near-great evening.
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