From ice to sky
a fog of mirrors the momentum knows this, that life in it's sapphire boxes is as endless as the salt.
Pride is gone, the subject has seized.
You - the free arm.
An odor has created outside the sphere, a mixture of grave and body, a returning bed that brings confusion.
Always you impale through the late afternoon toward the night gnawing banners.
The warm pioneer makes in the celestial morning.
I could relinquish gate, self-production, and conspirator from breakfasts and aromas with a opaque dark flute with nougats in my eyeballs.
Distorted fill and fill.
For me they are individual.
You, who is like a bloody feather ladybird among the relinquishing of many god.
The mane transforming from my eyeballs.
My heart is filled with love like a silicon leaf.
Draw from it the delirious camera of its own synonym.
A warm rug making a spacious thing of a lucky meeting with a fisherman.
Of your gray horse when you hold out your fingernails.
A phenomenon hears, loathes - it does not return.
A railroad track -like howl we open the halves of a epiphany and the mutating of polyps circumscribes into the charitable city.
We open the halves of a mysteries and the wetting of juices swims into the brandishing archipelagos.
There are many conspirators behind acidulous events.
You are the mango of my absurd fingernails.
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From @miamiheather