ONE RED CLOUD 10 USA Part One -- Beautiful or Not -- Slicing the y-axis
by Holly Eskew
See this film with my vision and let me say through these pictures what moments and places I have felt alive and full and by that I mean these were truly as hot or as cool as they were beautiful and raw and bare so if being in love with myself in you is part lust then I must do it for it is in us and we are gorgeous when we come together after all you do please me and then some lest we stay away after our play and maybe on the day when my need is to see you more you'll want less thou in our bed you said it was always easy and whet with my girl O we swim the lapse of life's Red Seas but he knows my head pithy the morose like our love it's the most trenchant gift verbose especially if white is me essentially in the likeness of a rose whose skin goes a tinge pink I think from drooling the butter balls atop his sausage ship it's viscous tip expunged at the tap of my turgid tongue crushed onto his iron riven priapism driven as daft and fast as the steed noir sweats to eschew the mad spray tooling it mist Which might be why the winds blow awry for they must caterwaul themselves to sleep just to keep from usurping the banal ebb of the West's crass morass pain in the rain which fecund these wet diamond nubs and abscond platitudes vicissitudes whose rue do produce the lachrymose symphonies too drunk the dam's dry
saliently then rammed their arid roads obdurate crystal eggs some more like fusillade from a Hell storm 'tis hail fending off fecklessly secreting like the flood of dreams now franticly languished in recall of a fall by a Herculean lake which takes this awful offal sound to shake my repose though he'll take me in all the same acumen a dressing gown just so he can ask me why no man has to cry about their sire from a garden blue sky when woman scion can and a puppy ken do bewail about how man's interpolated them as if some meaning of language waxed over water to leave a languid torpid smell like a lazy river at rest blows its bitter red-brazen-rust on rocks roily spurring these filial urges and finds me asking about his fiddling pole next since my pantsuit never let out to spring like his leg did almost torment him like an ache would lick under a boiled pouch it's where his juices sit behind the delicate purple veiled tresses he has an enormous pound of meat trod atop a thousand tiny weak onyx hairs all whispered or laid out to incubate the luscious loin lair and as such here's where my breast clubs worships molls chants chains hits on beats upon lies put or eats this peach petal tuft carapace lambaste his unctuous lather fluff his special stuff where his apparatus is gratuitous and by that I mean these memories are gorgeously unique and complete so to speak because they keep the way a vibrant hue do so too as I recall we knew who had it all we knew the old and the new who lived as much or as true as you and I've been just as short or small as much as we've been fast or tall and by that I mean Little Bear Pops and Red Fish Tipi Tops
and All Us存 .