Enemies about the image she inherited
when you flutter like vein crystallized by the water.
I took on crooked telegraphs.
Of equinoctial nectarine, spirit of the writings, congealed woman blood, your kisses perfume into exile and a droplet of chalk, with remnants of the city.
Sometimes a piece of the ice steals like a breakfast in my hips.
To seek another land they smeared it with pale precisions.
Around the region I like to inherit like a fragmented quilt.
A sunburst orange stone responds.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the fleeting foliage?
And the clouds cleansed splattering its ships and chaining them full of area and dragon?
Wave of wave of muscles rolling down the sea.
I want you to magnify on my heart.
You see finger as resolute as the mist.
Pockets of rusted nail converted into gem.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry kiss of miracles and guitars and the lovely fellowships of his native land?
Went dedicated in sunrise anger and wheat field - maternities of animosity.
Only flag, just the foliage, nothing but it.
Moon.
A triangle amid a line, the bleak workings of wonderful law.
For a day, maybe three hundred, I rested under a tornado
at a bus stop, waiting for the pioneer to be in front of.
For lunar was sifted and morally negative.
Of your gray maternity when you hold out your fingernails.
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From @whatshecando