[Mitch]

Scratching my back with converter,
relaxed in a recliner, sipping luxury wines, chased with succulent snacks.
At times suddenly savoring Bacardi in personal platinum flask,
and devilishly enjoying commercial commodities such as smarties.
Often a couple packs in a box beneath sate me.
My seating arrangements typically follow a history I lament faithfully.
I embellish in several delicate sweets prior to nightly pee as proceeding to bedroom. Head room is spacious with king size mattress for maiden.
A 66 inch television cascades a subtle floral cadence, with themes of creamy beige splashed on a canvas of laminate oak glaze tinge.
A comfortable tilt ensures maximum viewing capacity in a practical radius of probable activity, including common paths to the custom master bathroom,
with Arabian quilted lounge, parading a lingerie ring housing glitzy gowns, dangling gracefully beside silken towels. An auburn tint on the wallpaper
potentially offsets pretentiously the silver bowls filled with assorted sprites,
although the fact I can afford them distracts from the minor blemish in my georgious interior, posing no formidable danger.
Sprawling in my steam bed sauna beside the classic antique attic-esque mirror that refracts 8th century instruments displayed by the linen racks
reminds me of a time when i would admire the simple acts of musicians,
who, frivolous with tedious compositions, would please me with meaningless, pompous rhythms. After i finish in the bath rub, lather, rinse,
I typically dash to the sauna. Hot rocks for the feet
with a separate television set 76 inches from the feet,
the recommended distance from my physical therapist,
stretch room factored by the UV ray decay from this particular television,
connected to a satellite accessing international news and a local news station from my vacation home in Barbados, displayed in several miniature monitors arranged within the 60 inch, with BOSS enhanced digital surround sound,
screensaver showcasing astounding scenes captured and remastered
of my backyard in Madagascar. My Macbook laptop
has a deluxe fan that duplicates a natural breeze,
keeping me at ease, never mind the PC, even as the heat reaches temperatures of my exotic cottage in Madagascar.A limited edition rack where my feathered fedora hats are, holds my bathrobe signed by the president of Nascar...
exhibiting a silk sash strung through hoops of velvet boasting
a length proportionate with perimeter of robe yet
loose enough to loosen up on sofa of noir leather,
resting feet on foot rest of fine texture,
stable enough for fazing of spontaneous irritation ticks,
when observing the hatred unmasked when 7th century chandelier flickers and fades the sense of possession from inter personal quality measurements,
yet light enough to strike from under feet as silk sash slides through loop of fisherman knot,
extended from said chandelier tilted at odd angle.