In the face of her grandchildren, she brags, how good in bed she was.
In the night of winter, she holds in her mouth, on her nape a line of her sweat.
Something still under the water of he said, his own wallet in addition to, drowning the ditch.
It's not unusual, her pearls spilled, to crawl he said.
On his hand, for nine month of pregnancy, a written oath there is.