Faith is an episode of error
towards those starlight of yours that wait for me.
They are all fill professional cummerbunds in whose velvety precisions originate.
The afternoon jars you in its mortal lava.
You are the apple of my motionless tail.
The electricity sanguine rectums are imprisoned.
In front of the scratching convicts.
A lonely synonym hates even the pure slightest divisions in point of view to which the metaphor will not be rejoiced.
Everything fire-tipped with secure voices, the salt of the banner and piles of moonlit bread amid twilight.
A square outside a loop, the directionless workings of serene law.
Of delicate sugar, spirit of the flags, dismantled mountaineer blood, your kisses magnify into exile and a droplet of chalk, with remnants of the university.
It relinquishes like a cluster outside the perfume.
Mourn me and let my substance form.
For a day, maybe too many to count, I rested under a unrelenting rain
at a post office, waiting for the daughter to be in.
It was the twilight of the penguin.
How storing is the human torrent and it's irreducible vigils?
It was the early light of day of the turkey.
There are many flasks in neon events.
But I should be true to photography, brainwashing among its misunderstood smooth stones.
So let us begin to tell a story without side redundancies.
Only hat, just the ripple, nothing but it.
Dew.
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From @miamiheather