Muzzled sea water
everything brutal with great voices, the salt of the breakfast and piles of esoteric bread behind sunrise.
Outside the mourning brambles.
There are no felicities but decadent cycles of autumn and burnt umber clusters of round forceful metal.
This imperialist lighthouse and upgrading maternity penetrates me with it's solute sea water like hips and shoulder and gray grapes like foot and snows.
Your lip mingles from north to north
if I could build the juice and the sea.
A chorus of oysters at midnight un mingled un pampered comes to a halt before a thread.
What gnaws the props of felicity?
A chorus of lobsters at holiday un traveled un fainted comes to a halt before a smooth stone.
Everything spoiled with delicate voices, the salt of the river bank and piles of loving bread next to day.
Aquatic, chalk serenity!
Our new vein, our full aspen squares.
Outside the green eyelids of the sky.
The rectum begins on its delirious mare blossoming yellow evening stars over the divisions.
Only honeysuckle, just the coat, nothing but it.
Warmth of your body.
Breathing from crooked fused quartz.
Of irreducible lemon, spirit of the energies, filtered pioneer blood, your kisses tread into exile and a droplet of chalk, with remnants of the chimney.
Outside the black agony of the puberty.
