Dear Xxxxxxxx,
thanks. In a moment of eternal consciousness you gave me to understand that my heart is foaming.
produces soap bubbles and I dehydrated. And before the moon could be turned into a shield to sickle (or crescent shield), I have indicated the vain idle affluence of my generosity. Clear that they are only capable of imperfect infatuations.
Finally, let me just lying on the foam and produce sputum.
I should not feel ridiculous, because I know my being slippery and your roughness.
