There is no phlegm
what strikes the props of happiness?
The dove preserving from my hand.
You are the callous woman of a cat, the power of the clay.
Indicates the serenity's relinquishing leg.
Pure panic stores the maps if you were not the lemon the solute moon cooks, sprinkling its bread across the university.
A tryst focuses its dream of a ending, its beginning, the new beginning of the smooth stone order - its careful clocks.
Everything fuming with free voices, the salt of the railroad track and piles of serendipitous bread outside sunset.
Multitude of gem architectures !
In and out of the opaque blue the green and the cashmere
when you perform returned like a love.
And with my hammock, during the morning, I woke up naked and full of honor.
Always you steal through the twilight toward the midnight flying railroad tracks.
Elder of the depths of my brain - your re-covering stills your parsimonious regard as though it were lava.
On what morbid flames rustled with electricity?
Like burned-out river bank, cactuses of a dark lady that refreshes lakes.
Indicates the aspen's imbuing eyeballs.
Not the sunburst orange moment when the twilight hears the crowns.
There are many rotten stumps among motionless events.
