Lori Davis Trickle Irrigation System

How stupid to say: the green wigs of the trees keep browning while summer continues singing. There is something faintly sexy about vacant storefronts and all I want to do is touch your hair. My foot has taken root. My toes are tubers. My ankles need a drink. There was a large crop of crows, this year; they named themselves ravens. Sandy dirt is not the same as dirty sand; trust me. Imagine high-fiving with ceramic hands. When I turned the door knob, it turned right back. Baby, no one's heart is a handle. The wind is always negotiating. I'd love to lay in bed with you, play cover tunes, and massage your feet with cerulean blue paint, but I have a barcode sticker stuck in my hear.

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