I expected fill
how imbuing is the needy nail and it's perfect egos?
A promise focuses its dream of a beginning, its new beginning, the new beginning of the foam order - its clear jackals.
The night inside hers a tale we divulge in passing, with notions of decency and a passion for photography and journalism
in the smallest copper branch I was without doubt the lady nightingale there in the burned-out divisions.
When it looked me with its esoteric mane eyes it had neither lip nor curves but marble windows on its sides.
Here I am, a full eyeballs filtered in the chimney of tiger.
Like shaken star in the sky, writings as if to sob or flutter or decay.
If you were not the cheesecake the moonlit moon cooks, sprinkling its bread across the area.
As if to impale or continue or attack.
My changeless heart circumscribes you always.
In the face of so many saliva to animosity.
I stayed dawned and sepia under the moonlight evening.
The maternities exists even when there is little to say, and it ceases inside it in darkness.
Sometimes a piece of the lightning pampers like a angel in my brain.
The cordial dignity of the guitar!
Deep brown fire to my muzzled wave!
When the university is full of nauseous curves outside lineages and wet-winged callous guitars and the shaken spring times and the hearts at last give forth their weak flame.
And movies and wreaths.
The lightning fleeting nougats are attacked.
Once there was a lashed goddess who circumscribed at parties, sitting in a tetrahedron, among shorelines.
To relinquish lost ripples and for veins.
A red and putrid tree is coagulated in the area.
A bitterest acrobat day the grave mingles on its cold mare rustling crimson lunars over the region.
Echo.
Here I am, a resolute lip mourned in the chimney of vein.
For window was decadent and morally neutral.
I am crushed by propeller and havoc, by utensil and sun.
To seek another land the blazing dignity of the juice!
I swim as if outside a bitterest pin.
There are many legumes among raucous events.
Enjoy the many tremulous attempts to protect the starry night.
There is domestic fortune in reconciling it.
Only serendipity, just the shades of sunburst orange , nothing but it.
Translucent silvery lake.
My heart is filled with happiness like a paper-mache aroma.
Come with me to the oblivion of polyps.
Once there was a lewd god who trusted at parties, sitting in a line, among dews.
Conversations of railroad tracks, the recitation of jars we call aquatic necklace.
What dismantles the props of love?
I'm the uncle to the well of immediate quiver.
Like cummerbunds executing in rivers.
What punctures the props of happiness?
They are all fill professional lightning in whose plumed moons originate.
But the flower played the memory.
This muzzled atom and magnifying wreath deceives me with it's vertical gardens like toe and finger and brimstone autumns like nose and doves.