Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine -- how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beautified Strawberry.
My heart is pure as the driven slush.
I'm as pure as the driven slush.
Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.