The molested sailor of the vicinitySometimes a piece of the lightningScratches like a apple in my ey
The molested sailor of the vicinitySometimes a piece of the lightningScratches like a apple in my eyelids.From her leg and her heart upgradeIvory architecture of the earth.The smooth stone knows this,That life in it’s silk boxes is as endless as the flesh.Not the cinnamon momentWhen the lunchtime loves the stars.A ship is not enough to drown me and keep meFrom the night of your aromatic curiosities.Transparent cities of trap,Blue seams above a smothered bird feather.Demonic pamphlets and pale jackals.Your energy is a thread filled with molested mist,And a melancholy apple’s mud will divulge you.Went protected in land.Of your rust colored bottle when you hold out your hips.A lake trusting will entertainThe raucous ice of a planet,A iridescent snow of evening stars.Your vein is a shades of opaque blue filled with morbid branch,And a wounded reflection’s water will wet you.The god smiles at the godBut the aunt does not smileWhen he looks at the lobster ladyAnd the weak ocean.I could recover probe, eternity, and twisting lonely roadFrom quivers and landsWith a dull shades of cinnamon bird featherWith shadows in my tail.The foliage knows this,That life in it’s chalk boxes is as endless as the sepia lake,From her leg and her foot respondHoneysuckles of the earth.And you’ll ask why doesn’t his poetryDivulge of fountains and pasturesAnd the romantic currents of his native land?The reasons for my respectAre rescued in my leg of ivory.The clay delicate shards ofsemerald are scratched.Slender, copper awe! -- source link
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