The mellifluous sonorous of ineffable joy which brings an aquiver to the nefarious epoch which it was initialized will turn you into a somnambulist from the limerence of oblivion. But then you hear that bell, bombinating the air but still in an ethereal way, it’s not illicit, but it seems that it should be. As you breath in the petrichor air, it’s like it’s iridescent. The epiphany makes you want to go supine. Luminescence fills your mind, in a pure solitude until you see the aurora. Like an amazing syzygy thetas only sketched with tiny phosphenes. All of this is severely ephemeral, but as you stare at the incandescence in front of you, it all seems to have been happing slowly and memorably. This great eloquent denouement that I have created exceeds the vellichor of all existence. Do not take this to perform defenestration, for that would be illicit. As you sonder, listening to this smooth voice, it will be as beautiful as effervescence. This all is not cromulent, it is perfectly fine,