Word Salsa #603

ojos Para no voice of the spears of colors and more butter for the air soaking vat at her mother’s prayers light & these selfish hands feel like first-wake. Mujeres rebeldes luchando por tu razon y miran pa’ mi general Pancho Villa was not stir so pretty But this gift wrapped in a la manana, ni insultos, pendejos o para darles un segundo!

Lupe! Holy places news flash your bone-heavy knees so get no me.

Concha’s brother cried lies a Mustang with all they were on windshields staining cars after the rain held a cloudy idea of a completely foreign lands me the market fish swallow a little fat body.


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