Infinite dandelions.
Hold that thought.
The curtains are finally open.
Infinite dandelions: All hail the yellow sun.
Hold that thought.
The snare goes Dun-dun, Dun-dun.
Infinite dandelions turn yellow into dead white.
Sway to the thought.
The quartet is high as a kite.
Infinite dandelions and the drunken wind – A journey to the skin of the sun.
Glide with the thought.
The flutes AKA the wooden sirens.
Infinite dandelions over the new moon.
Shiver with the thought.
The tuba plays a scary tune.
Infinite dandelions drenched in blood wine rain.
A wet thought.
The piano stimulates a bump train.
Infinite dandelions on your drenched frock.
Another wet thought.
Black metal as loud as fuck.
Infinite dandelions laid as a bed.
An infinity thought.
Sax has to be enjoyed naked.
Infinite dandelions snowing from heaven.
Freeze that thought.
A buzzing singing bowl on the belly button.
Infinite dandelions melting over the clit.
A caressing thought.
The violin, the viola, the cello, any weapon with a raised hilt.
Infinite dandelions, worth each sigh.
Grab that thought.
A rap battle between the thigh.
Infinite dandelions, crushed to shambles.
Hold, hold that thought.
Piqued brown-nipped breasts for cymbals.
Infinite dandelions, moaning in unison.
A penetrating thought.
A trombone has a pump action.
Infinite dandelions, aching to soar.
Hold that surge.
The complete Operatic ensemble, huge uproar.
Infinite dandelions, rendered amiss.
Don’t hold.
Explode. Drop the bass.