"You always seem to smile when the moon is nigh," saith a nearby voluptuous female as she consumed an entire bag of potatoes, thinking how like the moon a shoe longs for the summer.
"And your face spins like a cord on a trunk doth spinneth, round and round about in its merry way," I replied, twisting my fur about, like a monkey spins a dish. "Come to me, O maiden with a lace in her face, dance with me and say unto me as you did upon that cliff with a disk, and breathe on my nose as we once did as children."
"For you, my love, I could plunge toast down my throat and not cough for love of thee. Like a bubble that riseth in the clouds, a pillow in the sky with a rainbow on its back, looking down on Saint Frostjack, with his nose and his eyes and his prickly spines... for he looketh upon the world like a pillow to drown would look to its maiden and ask for a crown."
"So I think and so I feel, if I were any younger I would be older still... for how like a mountain and a tree our love doth shake! For our love is younger than the mountains, yet older than the lakes. In the sky a tree dreams, but a merry game of tiddlywinks. Reindeer games we once did play, now as adults we still doth play... How like a hanger I would hang for you, and as a sock would travel many miles just to be with you. For thy smile is like a veil that doth veileth the world from all the anger, and strife, and this melancholic life."
"How like a turtle, thou appearest to me, gazing at the moon far yonder... ready, at any moment, to travel the distance like a foosball of dissonance. Yet there thou stand, looking down upon the world like a baby in a tree, for thou sayeth I hath but one disgrace... this lace on my face."
"Yea, for surely I agree with thee that thy face is completely abhorrent to me."
"But what do I, a squiggly spot do look upon you like my heart danced with a pot? A backpack sways and a backpack goes, but never in my life shall I be apart from you. In the depths of tomorrow and the seas of today, I shall never stare into the face of doctor John Bay. For no backstabber art I to turn against the love of my eye; eating my rye, I shall send my spies to cry and tell me of the things of which thou doth lie."
"Lie? I? Aye, surely you thinkest me some sort of harlot of sorts who doth dance like a tree that has been made into a pole and put in vision of thee. For who art I to be owned by thee? Is my own life not mine, canst I not simply chooseth to die? Or dost thou seeth me as some prickly spine?!"
"How like a kernel doth lead his men into battle and get stuck in your gums and make quite a rattle. Saddle my gaddle and ride into a nettle of kettles and prickly skettles, for thou never truly lovest me, and so I brought my scriddles and knittles, to taketh this knittle and plungeth it into thy talkative gibble!"
Seeing this coming a mile away, I quickly grabbed her bladed weapon of spiky doom, and plunged it deep within the wench's skull. And so she withered, and so she died. And on her grave, I now doth lie... sleeping peacefully, til the end of all time.
<to be continued...?>
"And your face spins like a cord on a trunk doth spinneth, round and round about in its merry way," I replied, twisting my fur about, like a monkey spins a dish. "Come to me, O maiden with a lace in her face, dance with me and say unto me as you did upon that cliff with a disk, and breathe on my nose as we once did as children."
"For you, my love, I could plunge toast down my throat and not cough for love of thee. Like a bubble that riseth in the clouds, a pillow in the sky with a rainbow on its back, looking down on Saint Frostjack, with his nose and his eyes and his prickly spines... for he looketh upon the world like a pillow to drown would look to its maiden and ask for a crown."
"So I think and so I feel, if I were any younger I would be older still... for how like a mountain and a tree our love doth shake! For our love is younger than the mountains, yet older than the lakes. In the sky a tree dreams, but a merry game of tiddlywinks. Reindeer games we once did play, now as adults we still doth play... How like a hanger I would hang for you, and as a sock would travel many miles just to be with you. For thy smile is like a veil that doth veileth the world from all the anger, and strife, and this melancholic life."
"How like a turtle, thou appearest to me, gazing at the moon far yonder... ready, at any moment, to travel the distance like a foosball of dissonance. Yet there thou stand, looking down upon the world like a baby in a tree, for thou sayeth I hath but one disgrace... this lace on my face."
"Yea, for surely I agree with thee that thy face is completely abhorrent to me."
"But what do I, a squiggly spot do look upon you like my heart danced with a pot? A backpack sways and a backpack goes, but never in my life shall I be apart from you. In the depths of tomorrow and the seas of today, I shall never stare into the face of doctor John Bay. For no backstabber art I to turn against the love of my eye; eating my rye, I shall send my spies to cry and tell me of the things of which thou doth lie."
"Lie? I? Aye, surely you thinkest me some sort of harlot of sorts who doth dance like a tree that has been made into a pole and put in vision of thee. For who art I to be owned by thee? Is my own life not mine, canst I not simply chooseth to die? Or dost thou seeth me as some prickly spine?!"
"How like a kernel doth lead his men into battle and get stuck in your gums and make quite a rattle. Saddle my gaddle and ride into a nettle of kettles and prickly skettles, for thou never truly lovest me, and so I brought my scriddles and knittles, to taketh this knittle and plungeth it into thy talkative gibble!"
Seeing this coming a mile away, I quickly grabbed her bladed weapon of spiky doom, and plunged it deep within the wench's skull. And so she withered, and so she died. And on her grave, I now doth lie... sleeping peacefully, til the end of all time.
<to be continued...?>
