Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - top is ascrewed holding back the hot long legs that wrap around your glass. the dark purple liquid stains your teeth. it's like a lumberjack's cologne on your tongue, longing to have a slab of meat sooth the grippy mouth-feel. the hard spicy wood finds its way into your head after it smashes up all the dark fruit that is letting loose on your shriveled palette.
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