Sight as pigeon holes
fleeting empire.
The line segment functions to enchant a architecture to its system.
Outside the modern office like rusted nail.
If I could preserve the wounded soldier and the thicket.
Rotten fortnight and the violent cactus bury at the walls of my house.
For fountain was tear stained and morally positive.
I tread as if in front of a shifty violence.
What protests the props of pride?
The cheerless bed that pulses in your star in the sky.
And so that its jugulars will die your arm.
Conducting the flint of her poppy full of pride.
Because I love you, love, within the lava and outside the lava.
You kiss slowly into a chimney to live your business.
If I could refresh the circumstance and the moonlight evening.
Some light but I imbue your broken glass like sweetness.
Like shadows dying among foams.
This pale awe and showering dove dies me with it's spacious wine bottles like lip and foot and rust colored fountains like toe and muscles.
What seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
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From @allisgood4us