THE acid snow, with it’s afterglow, like learning aikido, in alpenglow, is quite apropos, it’s soo art deco, sooo art nouveau, without the audio, says Baguio, and Bamako, these barrio, through the bay window, watched quaint old Bergamo, where the bibelot, one sailor Bilbao, left a black widow, and gave his blow-by-blow, who felt the body blow, down to his bone marrow, while the full bordereau, told about a man in Borneo, for real… this is no buffalo, yes, but it was in Buffalo.
In a small bungalow, he learned Bushido, while the buteo, and purring calico, did a cameo, before cachalot, he played the cembalo, for a centimo, from the CEO. Aiming the chassepot, saying cheerio, for my dear Clemenceau, with his cogito, a farce of comedo, with stern comme il faut, creating counterflow,until Cupid’s bow, pierced her curaçao, in Curaçao, on a flying curassow, and no curio, or Japanese daimyo,danio, oh no Delano, or Diderot, not a do-si-do, could fell the domino, oh this dynamo, who had… since an embryo, being conceived in the
, of Erato, as his parents fucked and dined on escargot.
His dad, an Eskimo, walked through the extrados, singing fabliau, his portfolio, included cooking fricandeau. As he ripped her furbelow, this gigolo, with his golden glow, got a go-no-go, like a grass widow, he ripped the blood of a real Marjorie Guacharo, who wanted only a hammer throw, got the hammertoe, as he planted the haricot, and wrestled her heel-and-toe, he… strictly hetero, worked her high and low, like an HMO.
I mean, Holy Joe, twas a horror show, not in Idaho, but in She-da-ho, twenty slags in a row, turned her black and indigo, and left a toss or two in escrow, for those of us in the know, when he came it seemed from Jericho, he talked like a kakapo, as he tanned her into latigo, with his big little Joe. All this, not so long-ago.
The Poet Longfellow, spoke of Maceió, and Maginot, in Manchukuo, where he got his medico,shipped from Mexico, and bought a mistletoe, and counted modulo, in Monaco, with that same Navajo, not with the NCO, a regal nuncio, who slipped like oleo, out the back on tiptoe.
This threesome Oreo, about to overflow, about to overgrow, about to overthrow, the maiden’s ovolo. She rode at Pamlico, a horse named Papago, and as she entered the paseo, there came one Eddie Vicaro, who played the piccolo, and rode a horse named Pierrot, who overcame the polio, but left his head shaped like a pomelo, and caught like pompano, on the portico.
When the Duke of Prospero, in quite proximo, heard on the radio, a raree-show, he calculated the ratio, that Richard Roe, and Rochambeau, had stipulated rococo, for their rodeo. This Romeo, peered from a rose window, a round rose window, at the saddlebow, of one Sapporo, who ate sapsago, rounding the Scapa Flow, Scipio, this Scorpio, went semipro, and got some sloppy joe, from her so-and-so. While the crowd was SRO, and gave them both a standing O, he waved in status quo, and she in stereo, and on went the stop-and-go, until a studio, hired a band named Subito, during their tallyho tangelo,with Director Tarantino, filmed the movie “tic-tac-toe, the TKO, of the to-and-fro“.
In Tokyo, her perfect tombolo, the rumor of touch-and-go, fired the sizzling tournedos, while a whispered tremolo, and wafting tuckahoe, emanating from touristos from Tupelo, in search of a UFO,were served the ultimo, and had to undergo, life’s undertow.
Rising like the gorgeous Veneto, swooning with vertigo, she held firm her vibrio, while I shot video from my Virago, the viral and the vireo, the Queen of Zhangjiakou, with my sweet zydeco…into the sun-soweto… and so… off we rode.
… and all this, just words and phrases arranged ALPHA BETIQUE LEE that happen to rhyme with…
QUID PRO QUO
to give and take