Poetry generator

Women Of A Motionless Country


The university around hers
a history we speak in passing,
with
notions of decency
and a passion for computer science and engineering
but I should be true to photography, degrading among its inaccessible ripples
so let us seek to tell a story without alphabetic redundancies.
I salute your wonderful lemon
and envy your monastic pride.
On
what blood-stained coffins enriched with fire?

The brutal poppy is eager on your tail.
Neither apple nor jar nor gray
nor sepia but deep brown.
Wave of wave of coats rolling down the sea.

Which is a soft miracle of directions
three hundred or thousand, rejoiced
on a film or in the starry smooth stone
directions of the lip, a calculation in your lips.
Enjoy the many fuming attempts to relax
the unguessed pigeon hole.
There is naked fortune in developing it.


A affection -like vinegar
on what motionless flames pulsed with clay?
The bruised utensil is cordial on your hips.
In the face of so many shortcuts to animosity.
The phemonana making from my heart.


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