Silky smooth, you lather my taste buds. Your sweetness slips and slides through my senses. My sweet, sweet senses. Your scent shifting, drifting like feather in the afternoon sun. Ah, yes. Like feather. A feather-like lather for this springtime weather. Fea–ther wea–ther. A strained graze to the back of my teeth. Tee-th. "–Th, –th", I wrestled. My tongue now writhing at this profound finding. Ah, yeth. My newfound pothibilithy.
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