Feeling as brambles
return to the homeland of the leaves.
I took on cheerless hats.
And so that its cities will die your lip.
In the middle of the shifty field of torrential tree.
Not fashioning is a form of connecting.
But the drop wet the memory.
In your hips of silencing the vicinity begins to dream of forming.
A energy focuses its dream of a new beginning, its beginning, the new ending of the thread order - its changeless shadows.
A thunder of pastures you build headlong into a night to live your business.
To seek another land thick empire.
The triangle functions to entertain a system to its environment.
Sometimes a piece of the mud flies like a branch in my brow.
Tiredness is gone, the subject has enchanted.
Conversations of moons, the recitation of old warrior's medals we call myriad coral.
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From @whatagreattime