Returning to the conversation on braiding horse manes with cold hands, I lean heavy on the yard post

 
 

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If I leave a purple stain when I remove my skin suit will you still love me? I looked over the flight plan but got confused and drew a brown cow across the numbers, tried to pass it off as the creationist fable of the Midwest, a joke thrown in a casino, but now I'm lost. The only thing I have to offer the lonely woman wrapping a blue garter belt around the pearl tombstone is a bleached horse pelvis, and an inconsolable fear of losing my breath in the Dairy Queen drive thru. Tomorrow I'll burn my thighs on the playground metal and learn to maturely manage a giggle

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