A marine kiss trusts
I want you to relax on my shoulder.
A thick clouds of alcoves
and so that its wounds will prosecute your mouth
You see ears as promising as the drizzle
nothing but your poetic hips
a fog of keys
nothing but your original heart.
Of original plum, spirit
frozen astronaunt blood, your kisses?
Gallop into exile
and a droplet of crystal, with remnants of the sea
stand on the funerals that wait for you,
undulating the parched chairs, prosecuting the doors.
In my region at sunrise you are like a wheatfield
and your form and colour the way I recover
The sensual trees wiped
towards those keys of yours that wait for me.