The mysteries of the divisions
enjoy the many absurd attempts to crystallize the absent minded cold fire.
There is original fortune in beginning it.
Against the riotous splendor, many disinterred cities.
Tear stained afternoon and the frail goblet abhor at the walls of my house.
Pure lamprey lives the suns to carry lost windows and for ripples.
Pure puberty begins the apples everything clotting with loving voices, the salt of the grace and piles of serendipitous bread inside holiday.
To reconcile lost foams and for muscles.
Sunburst orange and friendly bride, blue and domestic sailor,
a tear stained sequence crushes even the monastic public field in production to which the metaphor will not be showered.
Shining toward the farm i'd do it for the springtime in which you gather for the bells of cinnamon you've played.
This muzzled splendor and galloping knave smothers me with it's enchanting waves like shoulder and lip and ultraviolet sunrises like curves and flower heads.
Swimming a muscle dedicated in the perfect thunder.
Mixing toward the juice and a spoiled well's water will re-cover you.
And a mourning acrobat's ice will conduct you.
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From @begintheday