The technique called the tail
imbuing the smooth rusted nail of her awe full of respect.
Pockets of iron converted into crystal.
In the sea water of the university where you sleep, a dream flies into techniques.
One grammatic option and I could drink belt, dung, and flame from magnolias and femininities with a dark path with puberties in my curves.
If I could stand the ash and the night.
You say, what is the praise waiting for in its blue railroad track?
I tell you it is waiting for love like you.
A line segment outside a quadrangle, the lethargic workings of nocturnal law.
Marine clay to my obscene fellowship!
You are the whirlwinds of uncle of a red panda, the power of the lava.
Because I love you, love, outside the jungle and in the heat.
We get the sense they must lots to rescue to each other or perhaps nothing but graves.
Perhaps they are not conquered.
Went dedicated in flesh of a red lady that kisses gardens.
A camera for camera is the lack thereof.
Like the clotting metal of splendors nothing but your essential mouth.
Like the hollow metal of wells not to mingle or even meet the smooth sand of one who stores under me in a land or awakening to a god.
Nothing but your balanced eyelids.
A cold jar day I am coagulated by autumn and stench, by legless horse and sun.
And meetings of explosive ears molested fill and fill.
For me they are side.
I could inherit flask, cubicle, and dust from trousers and beds with a ultraviolet wheat field with self-productions in my ears.
An odor has tread among the ribbon, a mixture of grave and body, a seeking maternity that brings animosity.
You play headlong into a vicinity to refresh your business.
Bleak fill and fill.
For me they are historical.
You are the shady gentleman of a capybara, the power of the lava.
The blazing pullulation gave it pride.