The Post of Posts
(From a prompt by thette. If you want to prompt me, go here.)
1. The song of songs, which is equusregia’s.
2. Let us get the young ones ready for school together, O beloved, for spousal support is better than caffeine or myrrh.
3. I sitteth my flock down at the kitchen table at noon, and partake of the bread, the grape, and the butter of peanuts, which does crunch like sacred oats in my mouth.
4. My thighs ache pleasantly from light exercise yesterday, as they do after my beloved and I hath been together in our chambers.
5. My daughter of Jerusalem has a brow of thunder and cheeks of rain, and a nose with mucous of opals, for she suffers disappointment at the bookstore, and lo, her wrath is mighty.
6. We feast on pearls of hens with cheese from the loins of the goats that appear from the mount of Gilead.
7. O my love, thou whom my soul calls on the cell phone, where makest thou thy flock to rest at bed time? Thy children call for thee. Where the flock are you?
8. I am tired, and work too long. Comfort me with lasagna and the kisses of thy mouth. Let me lie betwixt thy breasts and take succor from the beat of thy heart and the incense of thy skin.
1. The song of songs, which is equusregia’s.
2. Let us get the young ones ready for school together, O beloved, for spousal support is better than caffeine or myrrh.
3. I sitteth my flock down at the kitchen table at noon, and partake of the bread, the grape, and the butter of peanuts, which does crunch like sacred oats in my mouth.
4. My thighs ache pleasantly from light exercise yesterday, as they do after my beloved and I hath been together in our chambers.
5. My daughter of Jerusalem has a brow of thunder and cheeks of rain, and a nose with mucous of opals, for she suffers disappointment at the bookstore, and lo, her wrath is mighty.
6. We feast on pearls of hens with cheese from the loins of the goats that appear from the mount of Gilead.
7. O my love, thou whom my soul calls on the cell phone, where makest thou thy flock to rest at bed time? Thy children call for thee. Where the flock are you?
8. I am tired, and work too long. Comfort me with lasagna and the kisses of thy mouth. Let me lie betwixt thy breasts and take succor from the beat of thy heart and the incense of thy skin.