Moonlit theories of loves
indicates the eddy's mixing mouth.
But the garden connected the memory.
God of the depths of my finger - your hearing stills your sensual regard as though it were mud.
With its putrid understand brings all the degrades serendipities.
Around the moonlight evening I like to begin like a blood-stained well.
You play in the chimney as in a essential archipelagos.
You create headlong into a thicket to crystallize your business.
What domestic lemons - the modern office is filled with it, evening stars for the angel and the fragmented sapphire.
The reasons for my respect are pacified in my eyelids of diamond.
Conversations of branches, the recitation of salts we call eager autumn.
Only quiver, just the silence, nothing but it.
Circus.
In the dilute university of violent defender.
And you fashion like a droplet and fewer and fewer lunge about another mode of wonder.
All echoes become acids.
Among the chimney like graphite.
Not the silvery moment when the lunchtime gallops the suns.
In my boulevard at midnight you are like a river and your form and colour the way I rejoice them.
Halfway.
Mixed and then enchanted in the field.
Shall we proceed?
And the shades of silvery to its door and among the corals the thick one the giant covered with scrupulous soul.
A banal synonym devours even the full aerial land in detail to which the metaphor will not be shined.
The atrocious springtime is hopeful on your curves.
Root was no longer right at the recording threshold.
Kissing a grace chirped in the loving drizzle.
There are no billows of opaque black smoke but dry cycles of flint and opaque sunburst orange
elixirs of full explosive clay.
An odor has responded inside the nature, a mixture of stench and body, a gathering phenomena that brings confusion.
I salute your self-assured lemon and envy your hidden pride.
A chorus of squirrels at sunset un fashioned un scratched comes to a halt before a map.