derive of environs

i always licked the lid when my mother made pasta with sauce; hardly ever from scratch: except for holidays. she was handed down the recipe for at the wedding. the difference only in that my grandmother made it everyday, and my mother only on special occasions. my father was Italian, second generation, and my mother Irish small southern deep south. they got together as they like & in college: military obligation meets nursing school graduate. both their parents concerned, and they adopted me as fashion of the seasonal change. much like a designer dog from new york: in style at the time.

when he was not around, she would role play my demise: toaster oven in the bathtub, chocolate suffocation, poison lotion that could solve the mystery of dry skin rat poison behind the ear. stazi listened with stripped reputation. sour grapes still gummied in her brain with love on the tounge for unrequinted plug candy micro machines. i am nail cherry undone fire lay ridge no name vision hijacked butterfly kiss on make a wish laugh orange birthday cake smile.

goulash leather

southern girl in the deep dish south. marriage sauce at least twice a week, with no compromise for piggly-wiggly gardenia green-bean. black port turtle tomato texas toast gaslight cowboy.

i saved you the lid

i saved you my light