Jazzmin Flush (2)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (2)"
  
   Jazzmin Flush lay in her basement, ornamenting a fuchsia-striped futon doohickey with her golden, angelic curves, spooning with Swiss, her favorite mouse in the pack.  Swiss' whiskers fluxed rapidly as she stroked him lovingly.  "And to think some tightly wound tomcat might play with your corpse."
   Miss Flush was also penning her new poetic pamphlet, which was entitled:  Junkyard Virgin. 
   Yeah, she wished.  Alas, still dreamed of friends transfigured platinum.  The many hues of confessors, martyrs, and the freakishly lovely comforting her wonderous affliction known as poverty; nevertheless--she could not be charmed.  And perhaps, that was a problem.  Yet, that was what made her thrive, riding the ridiculous heavenwards.