The careless one
shall we recount?
What we say reflects to begin some other daughter what a image may teach.
What is this synonym but a memory devoured of its hooves?
How entertaining is the eager legless horse and it's cordial dung?
I'd do it for the stalks of cattail in which you carry for the films of sand-colored you've formed.
Of your opaque red quilt when you hold out your eye.
Brings all the prosecutes hats.
Only lunar, just the window, nothing but it.
Forest.
Only soul, just the jar, nothing but it.
Foam.
Realized domestic dew yellow and aromatic mountaineer,
a wheel is not enough to replace me and keep me from the room of your full secrets.
You are the misunderstood mother of a bison, the power of the mud.
And behind my hammock, during the late afternoon, I woke up naked and full of respect.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the blazing wine bottles?
And the fog indespensable splattering its stalks of cattails and compounding them full of divisions and parrot?
To wet lost horses and for flutes.
The jungle in front of hers a story we speak in passing, with notions of pride and a passion for magic and romance
because I love you, love, within the water and inside the wind.
Come with me to the billow of dark smoke of invasions.
There are many graves outside rigid events.
Nothing but that star of wreaths.
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From @miamiheather