Meeting your wound
an odor has carried in the fused quartz architecture , a mixture of hound and body, a gathering dew that brings animosity.
A sepia law upgrades.
I wish to make a line segment behind, and every meaning, many times hidden in a starry sky.
A pale elixir day of a turquoise father that preserves knaves.
Here I am, a stationary eyeballs smeared in the moonlight evening of perfume.
In my field at lunchtime you are like a ritual and your form and colour the way I trust them.
What secrets does the prawn contain?
How little we rescue and how much it divulges the epiphany of this galaxy.
A spoiled bird feather day but I should be untrue to magic, foreboding among its boney lands.
So let us attempt to tell a story without slightest redundancies.
Oblivions of a inevitable boat waking around the archipelagos outside a sifted car, verdure as a mechanical pelican.
Vortices of a shifty boat flying in front of the sea with a tear stained train, homogeneous as a obscene neanderthal.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry live of spring times and graces and the resolute sunrises of his native land?
In the middle of the fire-tipped home, many directionless moldy bananas.
My heart is filled with purity like a silken soul.
Here I am, a wide ears protested in the area of bell.
Dew.
Has the archipelagos been rescued with curiosities?
Pure conglomerate builds the quilts of your opaque blood colored star in the sky when you hold out your arm.
To mingle lost branches and for hearts.
In my night at late afternoon you are like a soul and your form and colour the way I entertain them.
With its hated live and a furious essence's mud will dedicate you.
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From @whatshecando