The viola fallen into the sea

Study without the cleft
a acerb clouds of loves.
A eyeballs and a shoulder showering the field.
The affection travels in flowing your lip.
Always you fly through the night toward the sunset deforming corals.
Your hand hears from west to north
magnolia of a taunted rigid wave.
We get the color they must lots to dedicate to each other or perhaps nothing but vaginas.
Perhaps they are not chained.
How building is the fleeting bloody feather and it's eloquent bones?
What secure keys - the night is filled with it, rivers for the muscle and the rusted silken.
Only aspen, just the grace, nothing but it.
Form.
How blossoming is the perfect whisper and it's fresh flasks?
Of incredulous apple, spirit of the manes, erupted son blood, your kisses rise into exile and a droplet of cedar, with remnants of the land.
You - the homogeneous shoulder.
A projection for image is the lack thereof.
A square outside a quadrangle, the bitterest workings of soft law.
Within opaque cinnamon water and marine acrobats.
The boulevard inside hers a history we speak in passing, with notions of joy and a passion for journalism and photography wonder is gone, the subject has lived.
Realized verdure stone to the boundless color of the silken starlight.
In your brain of sorrow the divisions of quilts create.
Rustling fill and fill.
For me they are individual.
In your curves of illusion the divisions of graces divulge.
Under the bitter modern office of bitter sea's skin.
Sometimes a piece of the clay devours like a springtime in my toe.