What's up Second House? The elves that play in the toasters wash their drum sticks in honey and sing strikingly colored anthems in perfect harmonious pleasure. Your hair sends forth a sheen remniscent of golden sunlight winding through shadows. Your sweet voice is like the application of aloe vera upon a sunburnt back. I relentlessly desire cotton candy lollipops. All my thoughts are lost to your graceful gaze? If I could have just one wish, it would be to wake up to your songs in the morning. The sand runes crossing your divided consciousness do speak of contemptuous monsters being slayed by flying phoenixes. The stickers hugging the fruit smell better than the perfume of ambergris. You have not yet reached the height of your creativity. Wood nymphs sprinkle your path with rose petals while you dance and prowl in the sequined moonlight with leftover cupcake sprinkles. What wonderful vibrations you are capable of. I desire to see life through your hallucinations so that they massage my viscera into an eternal state of turgid flux.
