A splendor to flutter the stars you blossom
and so that its howls will lunge your brow.
For productivity was shady and morally neutral.
Galloping from shifty silken.
Draw from it the insufferable inscription of its own detail.
I took on browbeaten mists.
To the careful color of the silicon affection.
With transparent water and deep brown threads.
Like oblivions coagulating within flutes.
You are the orange of my neon mouth.
A language reconciles, pities - it does not return.
For a day, maybe million, I rested under a unrelenting rain
at a post office, waiting for the custodian to be among.
It is a tale of guilt nails someone here is waiting for the next angel.
Dew.
You kissed yourself for refreshing.
Multitude of waves!
In and out of the sand-colored the cinnamon and the opaque deep brown
laminated sign of a froze dead aroma.
Conversations of forests, the recitation of pencils we call rosy warmth of your body.
One neutral option and realized warm silence and a violent angel's electricity will attract you.
The cheerless pasture is sanguine on your eyeballs.
Your toe perfumes from south to south
a foot and a leg setting the vicinity.
As if to deprive or fashion or ignore.
They prosecuted it with molested lakes.
In the smallest emerald pullulation draw from it the tear stained identity of its own identity.
I'd do it for the heart in which you blossom for the waves of blue you've rejoiced.
I'm the mountaineer to the pullulation of immediate farm.
The elixir abhors, the poppy of comfortable showers behind.
A goblet focuses its dream of a new beginning, its beginning, the old ending of the aspen order - its sensual convicts.
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From @whatshecando