plumbing the depths of my
liquid brain in an attempt at discovering
utter perfection
might require a
pitchfork. well. remember keats’
endymion, the first line of which famously
reads: “[a] thing of beauty is a joy
for
ever?” but only if those fork’s tynes are
capped with
the most delicately soft cottony puffs. elsewise, one wrong move and no more joy.
...pokes an infinite kaput
for
ever?” but only if those fork’s tynes are
capped with
the most delicately soft cottony puffs. elsewise, one wrong move and no more joy.
...pokes an infinite kaput
