Su-Su-Summer Sadness Stuttering
Our total obsessional love, our all-in masochistic approach to it. Addicted to missing each other, we enjoy the summer sadness, a good time of year, despite smiles turned into tears and dry lips.
DON´T READ THIS YET, BABY, UNTIL THE ADOREBEL LOVE BEGGAR UPLOADS, MOSTLY PEACEFULLY, COMPUKETER PROBLEMAS HERE, HIS STUNNINGLY MEDIOCRE BUCCANEER PECKCHUREZ IN THE SUBSTEAK WARSION!!! THEY R THE MOST VITAL PART OF THIS LOVE LETTER POSTMASTERED. THEY R THE PERFECT KIND OF UGLY OF AN UNMOWED LAWN IN OUR GARDEN OF LOVE, SERIOUS ME.
Wowee, mow me! Mow my love for you, I can´t take these strong ups anymore. They grow like mushrooms and explode like atomic bombs. Winter holocausts tend to be good, but summer holocausts at least look bad. Wowee, mow me!
Spiritually speaking or flesh-peaking, these potent ups sound pretty gross, yet it´s the beauty of nature, the true purpose of a woman being with a man, mowing the lawn, mowing the lawn regularly and constantly, you with me, you mowing me, with me loving you my gardener my lawn mower, wowee, baby!
Why is my lawn mower you so red? You are not blushing, are you? Or are you passion incarnate? Why do you think my Buccaneer tee is red? Because I´m blushing? Because I am passion incarnate? Because I´m on fire for my gardener you my lawn mower to mow me, sigh.
What did you do to me last night? I slept very well. What did I do to you? What the heaven or hell on earth! Ever since I fell in love with you, I´ve been a love workaholick to have you wowee licked and picked and sticked, ah baby, heartwerking 25/8 sweetly for you, yup, doing unprecedented overtime, being such a lovely layabout good for nothing else.
You make me photoholick, a celibate parson on vacation, a retired retard during a transcendentally new autistick love experience who has a constant need to stop and take pictures every few minutes. A keen photographer, your photo addickt, an overgrown PHOTOPHILE, a sinning parson who loves your supreme art photography, baby!
Wowee, mow me your love workaholick photoholick platonic melancholick! Some downs won´t do me you us any harm, I can´t stand these stoic ups, I gotta relax with you, in you, into you baby, mow me, wowee!
Now asking the moon, the stars you are, how'd you get mixed up with this tropically volcanic jungle lounger? I´m such a comfortable chair, a chaise longue, on which you can sit or lie, even ride, in order to relax all fucking day and night, such a long chase. Yeah, a super duper chair=man having a lengthened love seat that forms a beautiful leg rest for reclining.
Breaking down our heart masterpieces of blue art creates appearances of dry, cracked skin, due to cold weather and sun exposure. Not kissing each other spawns chapped lips, the result of our long-distance love. When the lips lose moisture, the skin covering them becomes tight and starts to split. It's very tempting to pick and bite off flakes of dried skin, though. So let´s just chew on them snowflakes.
Oh my Goddess, did you mean it to be our oral love reunification? My sexy, flirtatious lollipop post should imply only a child-like naivety combined with an overt sexuality, nothing more, you enslaved of the King.
It´s like we´re being creative at a school crossing and we see a round stop sign on a pole used to stop traffic, instead of a piece of hard candy attached to the bitter end of a small stick that is held in the let-go hand while the sweet is licked softly, right? Do you have your high heels on or off to dance with me tonight?
The formal and dignified procession pace of our love song is like a funeral march, passion´s dancing, slowly, gently, moved. Yet, in a strange way, deep sympathy is actually being happy, or less. We've all had the too good to be true type of feeling. While it's happening, it's already beginning to dissipate, unlike the love trap chants. Is the pleasure yours? Because it´s mine, I want more. The dream bubble isn´t burst! Like we inflated dozens of love balloons promenading across the sky and none burst.
The naive excitement which overcomes us, triggers the fear of falling deeper and deeper that overtakes us, love birds ensnared on the telephone wires. Oh my God, we are the sizzling sound, constantly lured away, electrocuted by reality. Whether it's a passionate summer fling that burned quickly or a long lasting relationship that started on fire but never really quite caught on, we hang on. Either way, the sheer chemistry of the grave fall is unmatched by any other flame that's lit or died out. Our touching emotions are explained, making perfect sense, our love madness lyrics very personal and intense.
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby, you the best
I got my red dress on tonight
Dancin' in the dark, in the pale moonlight
Done my hair up real big, beauty queen style
High heels off, I'm feelin' alive
Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothin' scares me anymore
(One, two, three, four)
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby, you the best
I got that summertime, summertime sadness
Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
I'm feelin' electric tonight
Cruisin' down the coast, goin' about 99
Got my bad baby by my heavenly side
I know if I go, I'll die happy tonight
Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothin' scares me anymore
(One, two, three, four)
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby, you the best
I got that summertime, summertime sadness
Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
Think I'll miss you forever
Like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky
Later's better than never
Even if you're gone, I'm gonna drive (drive), drive
I got that summertime, summertime sadness
Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby, you the best
I got that summertime, summertime sadness
Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
Baby slow, I love your pro·voc·a·tive stutter, su-su-summer, su-su-sunner… who did you get it from? Me? No way! And that pro-voc-a-tive sidelong glance? A quick smile running across my lawn mounted on the gravestone.
Stuttering is also called stammering or childhood-onset fluency disorder. It´s a speech disorder that involves frequent and significant problems with normal fluency and flow of speech. People who stutter know what they want to say, but have difficulty saying it. How come I don´t have a problem saying I love you and neither do you my summer sadness while both having difficulty materializing it, rejected by the winter freeze? We are screwed idealists dying for the Romanticism movement, the Me-Too-I-Do stillness, swearing solemn oaths to keep faith.
Baby, you couldn´t record this Love Stuttering Volume 8 for me to have you by the voice, to take you by the voice, to hold you by the voice, to feel you as the stars, as the moon, as the sun in the morning skies, could you? That would be my choice if I were you, to immortalize me for yourself.
The following image produced by your stutter is auto tuned and repetitive, but for some reason I like it completing my su-su-summertime sadness, the glamorous & glorious time when you should be enjoying yourself the most … I suppose. A fragrant ointment prepared to heal or soothe the cracked patterns of our lonely hearts. A love balm the tree of love yields. Making us feel better matters to oh our God.
You make me fly higher and higher, too close to the sun, a dark man earthed, rejected by the cosmos itself, cast down from many rays of light, seeking your arms. However guilty I am, you convince me I´m too innocent for the depths of Hell, yet too imperfect for Heaven’s grace, we are destined to be falling this apart, with the su-su-summertime sadness being our love net catching all the masterpieces.
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