When Our Architects Dream of Sweaty Slumber

fig. 3) waiting for love

When roses match (The rabbits burn and others won't make sexual overtures involving soda cans and candid smiles When roses are red and they're soft and as real as the money money in the house with the turn turn turn) Then roses same as day
December is like August and the humble Republican disrobes. The Democrat watches, blushing, "Did the tattoo hurt?"
"Only if you really like Ayn Rand," he says dropping the suggestively long belt beside the big oval bed.
"Well then it's a good thing that the President just signed an executive order undermining the long term security of your personal information on the Federal level while the Governor is busy eradicating it's immediate safety on the State level."
"Why so," the Republican asks, slipping out of his wet leather slippers.
"Small talk, I'm nervous I guess," the Democrat liked his chances better back at the piano bar.
"Privacy I love it. It sounds just like a new noise when it sings," the shower hisses in the next room. The pipes rattle and a gentle wisp of steam dances towards the ceiling like a rustic ballerina. "Shall we make some little Republicrats now?"
"Democans, I prefer call them Democans but they can have your eyes."
"I see."
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