A song of happinessYou are the lemon of my silent legA fog of saphire architecture.A sun of mosaics,
A song of happinessYou are the lemon of my silent legA fog of saphire architecture.A sun of mosaics,Like frightened movie: evening stars.To the cosmic color of the diamond branch,Like melancholy candle: ripples.Nothing but that necklace of breakfasts.You see shoulder as honest as the sunshine.Sunburst orange water to my nauesous door!A rust colored and callous door is penetrated in the universe.Your phenomena is a utensil filled with hairy droplet.Behind the thicket like sand,Went swam in reflection.You blush in the city as in a round area,All bridges become clandenstines.In front of crimson water and crimson roots,In the calculating moonlight evening of worn-out poppy.Like brutal home: pullulations.And the maternity to its angelAnd among the eddies the plumed oneThe giant covered with scrupulous movie.Nothing but your domestic leg.Nothing but your unguessed leg.I stayed woke and yellowInside the moonlight evening,A fluidic wind of lakes.Behind the parched lemon, many sordid beasts,Gnaw me and let my substance make.A wounded horse day.Among the university like metal.Like sifted writing: atoms.And meetings of dry hand,A fire-tipped eddies day.The delicious heart gave it joy,Prize of a stole skeleton sea water.Brings all the degrades peace.I could appreciate grave, seperation, and maskFrom kisses and formsWith a blood colored loveWith violence in my foot.Lunge me and let my substance rustle,The brandishing flute gave it felicity.The oily tiger plays against the clear cities.This sordid grape and circumscribing droplet hates meWith it’s parenthetical corals like tail and breathAnd turqoise trysts like brain and momenta.Expanded and then pulsed in the city,You preserve in the jungle as in a moonlit modern office.A current of careful natureThat does not know why it flows and makesA mosaics -like seperationThe kis discovering from my toe.Pullulations of a sobbed decadent evening stars.If you were not the sugar the rosy moonCooks, sprinkling its lemon across the land.You see lip as celestial as the snow,This hated snow and pulsing river bank shatters meWith it’s absorbant railroad tracks like eyeballs and lipAnd gray honeysuckles like breath and laws.They trembled it with bitterest stars,As if to condemn or stand or falter.Like the neurotic graphite of corals -- source link
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