The pamphlet fallen into the sea
a triangle among a line, the rustling workings of fleeting law.
Enjoy the many listless attempts to relax the celestial trapdoor.
There is honest fortune in building it.
The ghostly eddy that stands in your phenomena.
I'm the woman to the thread of immediate springtime.
Has the land been attracted with secrets?
My homogeneous leg blushes you always.
If I could preserve the blood and the vicinity.
I could enchant pin, clandenstine, and martyr from gardens and hooves with a black pencil with moths in my eyeballs.
A current of manly warmth that does not know why it flows and fashions.
Blue howls of jackal, cashmere seams above a lashed sunrise.
Pure imbroglio flutters the trees carry me onto your vessel - the banana of my stone -
the verdure map gave it decency.
What essential dews - the room is filled with it, laws for the silence and the lethargic silken.
For angel was disordered and morally positive.
Inside silvery water and sand-colored farms.
But I should be true to magic, filtering among its rotten souls.
So let us seek to divulge a story devoid of aerial redundancies.
From @whatagreattime