sabintel
The honey burboun felt had the velvety smoothness of a rose petal, the swirly aroma of a industrial age relaxation after a long day of factory labour, the taste of pureness.
She stored her ideas on politics in a freezer, ready to thaw at a moments notice. They didn't make any impact on her otherwise.
The sniper veered left, angled around the building, then whooshed over a fallen plyboard, then veered right, all the while keeping an astute eye for entrapments.
All of a sudden I didn't know what to say, my thoughts were stuck as if the elevator had jammed in my throat on its way down from the brain.
She commissioned a jack o lantern full of poems for the extravaganza of contradictions
Her aura was so glamorous she seemed as if plumes of feathers followed her around.
He was such a rigid person, the contours of his face had become geometric in their pursuit of precision.