Meghan wore many more gold trinkets than a pawn shop cabinet link it. Her dazzling arms were a spectacular floor of heavenly angels trumpeting a showroom door. She had several spring pipes tingling the eyes of the spite.
Her left arm had a score of bracelets galore; "a hoop here, a chain there, a solid shield to peel...." Her right arm glossed with a golden store loss to the happy boss in the acquisition cost. The arm was filled with herringbone, rolo gold, and a chain pole.
She knew her gold was a fine bind that titillated the crime of the mind to watch behind.
The wide eyed carat coat promoted a lady with a turnstile vote. I "spoke" to honor her as a darling yolk to cheat the watchful broke.
Written by: Patrick James Quaker
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