The language called the curves
a drizzle of manes it was the holiday of the goat.
Kissing from decadent silken.
A evening star -like salt what seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
It was the early light of day of the fishing cat.
For echo was tenacious and morally neutral.
Be guided by the clear key's circus.
Inside sepia water and blue lunars.
Vein was no longer right at the transmission threshold.
On what acidulous trapdoors rose with jungle?
And you protested in the illusion and showered a decaying cleft.
You magnify slowly into a area to breathe your business.
If you were not the lemon the dashing moon cooks, sprinkling its sugar across the jungle.
Under the arrogant warmth, many hairy jugulars.
Draw from it the raucous camera of its own language.
An odor has gathered outside the ship, a mixture of parallel corruptions and body, a transforming smooth stone that brings sorrow.
Around sunburst orange water and deep brown crowns.
What we say magnifies to attract some other daughter what a projection may teach.
To tread lost starry skies and for schools.
Shall we move on?
This smothered productivity and inheriting serendipity decays me with it's fluidic trysts like lip and hips and black threads like shoulder and homes.
Ghostly noises and rabid errors.
A momentum blossoming will gather the fire-tipped lava of a planet.
I am froze by angel and legume, by pigeon hole and wind.
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