The sun glistens on her action skin. Sunaction on her glistenskin.
Listening to her glistening skin. Her glistening skin whispers a sermon
in the sweetest vernacular. Sermon on the Mons. Whatever language this
is, it's lavender-white, petals and all good things.

The sun is unction on her actionpacked skin. Unction on her suntanned
skin. She comes home from the beach suffused with sunlight molecules,
which I then proceed to sniff and lick off her body. She just laughs
languorously, fingers interlaced behind her head. I vaccuum up the sun
molecules with my nostrils. Soon she's pale white again, and I'm hale and
brown.