O, how the tryptophan course through my CNS, battling its less authentic predecessors/its victor will celebrate victory with spoils of dreaminess...Thanksgiving Ode
O, how the tryptophan course through my CNS, battling its less authentic predecessors in a war of dopamine and swordsmanship. I but only hope its victor will celebrate its victory with more spoils of dreaminess.
...And until that time, I will leave you your Tofurky and last few moments of girlish whimsy as you prepare to defenestrate the never-fully-open-again transom of its cradle, and trade its plastic animals for plastic cards and boorish creatures in your fast-approaching(shh, i hear the whisper of your introduction and admire the breathtaking unselfconscious, fully conscious embouchure of your parted lips) burgeoning woman's night of tomorrow.
Your avuncular funicular blog pal--and that's it--no unseemly, untoward, or delusional aspirations or intentions do i harbor, Barrister--maker of dreamboats and litigatorous Esquire...but, Sir, if I may be so bold, or is that you for your surveillance: Our little girl is a woman in December, and as with all things in December, it is our duty to it honor:
Image by WhatGetsMeHot Mrjyn via Flickr
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