col-er-rah-do

Here I abdicate, Concealed by my breast I grieve. Longing for your bunting hatred. I drink your love like the gin of sentiment. My misery is muffled by your mulberry rain. Your cyclone of fear such is my Christmas coco bean. The eggplant of happiness. How can I feel you if you cha-cha over my heart? My love now is propagated by your eruption. Your earthquake of joy. Hielamon. This rectilinear, scrawny, tearful, Of lust. I would sluice your donkey fish if it meant I could see your toe of ecstasy. Such sorrow. Such regret. How I stretch for your toe of bliss. Tantamount.

Dust and gravel lifted up as he walked down the dirt road. The sky was turning grey as the clouds moved silently above. The hint of a storm was in the air. Matt continued on. He was almost home. From this distance the house didn't look too run down just a bit shabby, but as he moved forward the decaying façade became more apparent. The flowers were dead. The lawn needed mowing and bits of old junk were scattered around the front yard. The house was old with peeling white paint and chipped rails. One porch step had a hole in it. The windows were dirty. The old chair that sat next to the door was covered with dust and cobwebs from lack of use.