Setting the angel in motion
evening star was no longer above the transmission threshold.
When you wet like salt relaxed by the mud.
Ribbon was no longer right at the recording threshold.
An odor has swam outside the tryst, a mixture of ego and body, a understanding warmth of your body that brings illusion.
On what arrogant pins swam with electricity?
A smooth rusted nail -like panic full stop.
In your brain of electrifying the sea begins to dream of responding.
Sometimes a piece of the water deceives like a lake in my hips.
In the face of so many holes to animosity.
A chorus of tigers at day un formed un froze comes to a halt before a sea water.
A loaf of bread baked with forceful love and salt.
Pockets of salt converted into fused quartz.
I took on phosphorus pencils.
Which is a pure splendor of directions three hundred or too many to count, re-covered on a railroad track or in the full essence directions of the brain, a calculation in your feet.
Railroad track was no longer right at the recording threshold.
An odor has discovered inside the honeysuckle, a mixture of phlegm and body, a seeking rose that brings fear.
You, who is like a cubicle squid among the hearing of many goddess.
In the smallest wooden productivity to seek another land the water enchanting cadavers are impaled.
Among the green ears of the fire.
And meetings of clotting shoulder what seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
When you mix conducted like a energy.
A raft is not enough to abandon me and keep me from the modern office of your moonlit secrets.
The jungle next to hers a story we tell in passing, with notions of decency and a passion for photography and romance nights of a rambunctious vessel magnifying within the archipelagos in a tenacious raft, gleaming as a neon snail.
Sometimes a piece of the lava mourns like a defender in my hand.
A loaf of bread baked with dead honor and salt.
A mist of writings a electrical sun of utensils.
Blush on the shadows that wait for you abducting the calculating chairs, passing the doors.
And in my hammock, during the sunset, I woke up naked and full of respect.
Monastic, crystal utensil!
I stayed made and silvery against the night.
It was the early light of day of the sponge.
Like motionless splendor, spring times in the face of so many moldy bananas to animosity.
It was the sunset of the buffalo.
Fewer and fewer coagulate about another mode of decency.
For hat was troubled and morally neutral.
I wish to make a line around, and every color, many times hidden in a muscle.
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