Conceptual mellifluidities fit harshly on the girls of happenstance. That party girl with smokestack eyes that tease, inviting billows of translucent chance, obscurant smolders hinting dalliance, reminds me of my algebraic girl. Sweet variables unplugged but strung to dance equations explicated as they curl around identity while proofs unfurl. A given x is very rarely y, derivative of idealized delight. Our loveplay led to squeals. Such sounds belie the fractal dignity of cosmic light; such sounds are wanton, piggish, gross, and trite.
Posted on: Wed, 02 Oct 2013 21:51:45 +0000