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LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village
MUMBAI YA So, dose my sari ass in a drugged out tout pickin' moby dhobi sadhu babhou bibbly bop wallah And, lick my korma formulates in a frenetic ascetic kali-kali retro-chic, when onastreethepaeia. Sweet Lassi, come home. And say holi holi holi when yr dotted hottie skitters off in the discomfiture of russtes, values, casted in likeness and strung by her fuschia folds parted in the welcome of exotic gloat float trod titillate. For, as distance warms in the logic of ash smear matted in her hoodoo sufi lufa trois fois foliate, Yr light -- is my grunge band. So, bathe me in dharma swarm, in puja pyjamas Hello Dahli 'cause i got a limb dangle tolerance and when my pivot haze bears down in a geometry of throbs. In the persistence of fumescent tument flagrance i dig yr ambient lindy bindi bebop hop. And, do the taj homage tinged with zippy fritatas stylin' with prickly sprawls roused in the copula opulence of bhangra scat saavy. Hey bo idly -- Here we go dosa - do ravaged in the frangipani panji gange which murmers in the dimpled middling of bulging perjoratives and the knotted shock mockery of yr purginí burgeon bhaji sludge. So, gimme an anapana sate in the crusty collusion of humming undulance and sidestep yr flaccid lassitudes divided in trippled thali lolling patois fois filaments And cut me. in the burning. in the sandy flange flummox of aural abrasion / noxious grottoes mottled softly garnished with yr counter-swirlin' saucy tikka hazily serrated And focus yr produce, in yr gala glam flannel, a hump-backed premise twisted mid-thicket without frou frou affiliates Because yr eau de toilette is my hand maiden / tarted-up with her whoso saucy see-saw silicate wrapped in her poufy boufant flambe which aint ghat no creamy gulab / pogo a go-go, no ho-ho hoo-ha whorls like Hulot coullotes coloured like flouting frontlets, a folded surfeit, an indi-high-five foliate come frottage.