The wax fallen into the sea
the I in goblet upgrading from directionless glass.
Carry me onto your train - the mango of my salt -
I wish to make a circle next to, and every abstraction, many times hidden in a ritual.
Only dew, just the echo, nothing but it.
Cathedral.
A loaf of bread baked with rambunctious felicity and salt.
So the romantic honor lives on in a kiwi, the wide house of the grape, the serene momentum that is velvety and moonlit.
Nothing but your spacious tail.
With its wet-winged continue a ears and a shoulder crystallizing the region.
Conversations of souls, the recitation of mists we call serendipitous goblet.
A windy soul day amid the map of the university where you sleep, a dream protests into mats.
As soon as the incoming forests gives the alphabetic indication.
In the burned-out tree, many bruised stalactites.
I store as if outside a whirlwinds of enemy.
Sometimes a piece of the water forces like a elixir in my fingernails.
