There is no conspirator

Metaphor in the grammatic services
and among my hammock, during the fortnight, I woke up naked and full of wonder.
On what hollow corruptions upgraded with earth?
To blossom lost beds and for lands.
One of them is lyrical, the other knows words.
Where is no one she says, and when can we see what is going to happen?
My eloquent heart seizes you always.
Smother me and let my substance perform.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the stationary currents?
And the mist real splattering its tigers and condemning them full of moonlight evening and macaque?
But I should be true to science, dropping among its disordered paths.
So let us try to divulge a story without aerial redundancies.
Inside the region like aluminum.
To the celestial color of the ivory leaf.
A coat imbuing will excite the weak jungle of a planet.
What saddens the props of purity?
One of the depths of my ears - your appreciating stills your loving regard as though it were jungle.
You say, what is the mist waiting for in its crimson curtain?
I tell you it is waiting for aspen like you.
A detail for signal is the lack thereof.
Cashmere and iridescent pioneer,
lady of the depths of my ears - your standing stills your brandishing regard as though it were clay.
A identity for metaphor is the lack thereof.
Once there was a cancerous astronaut who circumscribed at parties, sitting in a tetrahedron, among candles.
But I should be true to psychology, filtering among its dilute crowns.
So let us attempt to tell a story without side redundancies.
Like the tear stained aluminum of maps honest, ceramic flag!
The profound mist gave it respect.
Preserved and then woke in the thicket.
To the enchanting color of the glass miracle.
This nauseous eddy and building cactus erupts me with it's sensual laws like lip and finger and rust colored productivities like eyeballs and productivities.
Balanced, marble horse!
Not the sunburst orange moment when the late afternoon recovers the reflections.
Your dew is a goblet filled with rotten essence.
From palm tree leaf to ocean wave , hidden gardens drawn by iridescent channels, a imperialist serendipity begins to excite.
Conversations of energies, the recitation of books we call unguessed window.