Lass Over The Canyon When there is word to be scribbled on the dry clay surface amidst explosions of dust and red sand that flow from the tanned grand canyon, overlooked by the shapely form of a girl yet but nineteen with blonde hair dressed in a cavewoman's fibre weavings, all that feels eager in the heat of the moist summer is warm sweat drying cool in the temperamental breeze amidst the smell of her shapely tempest.
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