Meeting your wound
sticky weather, riotous lights like the lake.
The incredulous hearts plagued a chorus of turkeys at fortnight un shined un bristled comes to a halt before a farm.
In the first reel, the noble gentleman is pampered by a fisherman.
In the second reel he returns, to mix and to fashion.
Grew and then excited in the universe.
The mineral bells replaced I could drink dagger, hound, and pamphlet from corals and books with a black femininity with complaints in my tail.
In the middle of the frail land of insatiable flint.
Where aromas meet lands meet, next to and within and the sound of blood, to reach out and shower in embarrassment.
One of them is perfect, the other knows studies.
Where is no one she exclaims, and when can we see what is going to happen?
The I in wave shut up and pulled out like a warmth.
You say, what is the ritual waiting for in its sunburst orange mirror?
I tell you it is waiting for fountain like you.
A clotting synonym attacks even the original aerial vicinity in study to which the metaphor will not be inherited.
A fingernails and a hips rescuing the sea.
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From @whatshecando