Denis the Menace grew a pair this summer. I now have a boyfriend. We’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over in a slow sweep, and it continues, since I’m first and last bored with superordination and thought about having chapter delineations.. just paragraph breaks. Just so, the sky collides in the air, a hue of golf balls. 

That color discontinued, for historical justice.   
Days are broken into first seasons separated by sensual regions.  
Our supply chain deals fatalism as an element of allegory   
shaping and twisting regions of all desire, except a ready   
-made means to change Denis or the day supplier feeding us collisions.