Poetry generator

Tonight I Can Transform

I'm the daughter to the school of immediate breakfast.
Not to flutter or even meet
the candle of one who understands
in me in a night or responding to a man.
The sea with hers
a history we speak in passing,
with notions of felicity
and a passion for mountaineering and photography

I saw how propellers are transformed
by the humble ritual.
In the face of so many martyrs to functionality.

Flow on the invasions that wait for you
condemning the guilt
chairs, pampering the doors.
Like the dead ash of femininities the mourning starlight is warm on your ears.

I could dedicate legume, rotten stump, and
billows of brimstone smoke
from doves and sweetness
with a ultraviolet planetarium
with lampreys in my tail.
Full stop.
A mirror -like darknes
with the dropping felicities.
Beligerance and moon - circuss of panic.

For a day,
maybe million,
I rested under a pillow of fog
at a office cubicle, waiting for the sailor to be in.
Shall we set forth?
A calculating miracle day
a chorus of pheasants at twilight un transformed un wetted
comes to a halt before a school.
Which is a sensible chalk architecture of directions
three hundred or three hundred, understood
on a promise or in the honest kiss
directions of the mouth, a calculation in your eyelidss.
My heart moves from being inevitable
to being pure.

Always you strike through the night
toward the afternoon plaguing lighthouses.
Inside the exiled field of rustling flesh.
Like fire-tipped crown, phemonanas
be guided by the promising poppy's sea's skin.

Around the chimney I like to love like a hollow magnolium.
And a disordered dew's sky will entertain you.

Smothered extinctions and clenched evils.
Like nougats plaguing in times.

A fuming detail lunges
even the round
grammatic heights in metaphor
to which the metaphor
will not be made.
A honeysuckle focuses its dream of a beginning, its new beginning, the ending of the love order -
its somber hearts.