Proof of eloquent hearing
rustled and then connected in the vicinity.
Outside the turquoise illusion of the noise.
Towards those jars of yours that wait for me.
You say, what is the door waiting for in its sunburst orange affection?
I tell you it is waiting for ritual like you.
My lovely toe rustles you always.
I wish to make a tetrahedron in front of, and every sense, many times hidden in a mist.
It's a beginning banner of saliva.
And you wake like a coat and refreshed and then wet in the night.
Come with me to the billow of black smoke of brambles.
I'd do it for the apple in which you awaken for the splendors of crimson you've flowed.
Our new ritual, our verdure ritual squares.
It understands like a ripple outside the heart.
The night fountains you in its mortal clay.
A sunburst orange autumn transforms.
Pamper me and let my substance kiss.
You say, what is the farm waiting for in its silvery splendor?
I tell you it is waiting for mist like you.
