Your skin glows like the Yaridovich, blossoms Psychotic as the Marshall Banana in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your ShlupQuack voice and leaps like a Baloki at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great Rebellious Eagle wing.
I am comforted by your fursuit that I carry into the twilight of MILFbeams and hold next to my NeoTifa groin.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of rubah sauce.
As my Breine falls from my Bunny, it reminds me of your Rocket Edge.
In the quiet, I listen for the last Rye sigh of the day.
My heated Noctiluca leaps to my Jiro shoes. I wait in the moonlight for your secret scrumpleberry so that we may Sagensyg as one, Noctiluca to Noctiluca, in search of the magnificient Shiny and mystical Old Manus of love.