Harvey: You would work with translucent yesterday.
Miranda: I - what?
Harvey: Young worry seep. And velvet, which warm stiff wet, wake some secret smile?
Miranda: Have you been drinking?
Harvey: Too soft. Prick. Voice. Yet there: morning rhythm.
Miranda:
Harvey: Worry the vast word; speak wild yet warm and surround this clean universe; will you linger him, will she, your young yesterday?
Miranda: Ah, magnetic fridge poetry... cut it out, would you?
No comments:
Post a Comment
Like, you know, whatever.