As I contemplate the growing wonder of your animal magnetism, my urge to spout poetry is uncontrollable. You're like a dancing heron or a singing tiger or a snake spelling out words by assuming different letter-shaped poses. You're a crazy-mirrored funhouse full of tool-using ravens. You're a convention of laughing hyenas partying at a watering hole on the other side of the tracks from paradise. In short, you're as impossible to predict as a drunk hummingbird, as dangerously smart as a shape-shifting fox from Japanese mythology.
1 comments:
You'll get your ring. Well, we'll get our rings. I am gonna marry you, Ms. Johnson. Maybe I'll even sing you a song about it.
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