Marmelade

Punctuated by chromatic swings and costic slurries.
Rooted in the childhood goop and grandeur of vibrant displays without meaning, and soothed by bombastic expulsions colliding with innocence.

Up-top the swings you see reds and yellows swirling 'round smells of sweet treats and drowning in sticky displays of yearning too thick to escape.
Waxing towards the direction of decision, waning to a land of plume and certainty.

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