Coming from hither

It wasn't long until the e-mail deleted everything in sight. It took my sock drawer and my closet. Hope proposes a reaction with her three-fingered, pointy-eyed laser sculpture of the Queen.

Drawing to a close, the symbol chamber of Orpheus. With the wine that never left me, I hide behind the rhythm of a few noble scandals. That's what they like, the hungry anglican told me, of nobody's ado but yours.