read this air and you see the horn . Ain't that the something'est thing ? Jolly Jill leans into Mona carrying her hair back to the roost. All the columns make forced marchs to the wind , and the suffering jesus of the almighty. A cape, a caul a reminder of then and now. Besides the nearest thing to the pleasing plateau is the pleasure they took between memories. Holding the forest height clambering along the steep hill, caught between desert boots and rocks. And Mona returning from the library where the great knowleges are and she sees her share. Of knowledge and fortitude. but love won't come this way. Her cock is a balance sheet between the tipping of love the glances of lust and the rusty pipers of noon.

Is there then a book between them. she's a hell raise between the sheets, tearing the festoon from the drilling and the riding. She's in the moon calf bestride love's true beat. 

Come again to London and you will see. She says.