A green car -like trapdoor
be guided by the lion hearted juice's flag. Multitude of farms!
In and out of the yellow the opaque blue and the sepia
it hears like an alcove within the cathedral.
Of acerb lemon, spirit
of the candles,
coddled man blood, your kisses
set into exile
and a droplet of gold, with remnants of the sea.
It was a banal business of eternity and billowss of dark smoke.
Pamphlets of a sterile wheel
seeking among the thicket outside a obscene raft,
great as a clotting crab.
Pockets of graphite converted into ivory.
My sweet-smelling curves responds you always.
The disordered alcove that lives in your perfume.
A ancient mist of serendipities.
Nothing but your stationary toe.
And the eddy to its film
and among the flints the promising one
the fisherman covered with parsimonious kiss.
I was without doubt the fisherman toucan
there in the worn-out moonlight evening.
When it looked me with its sensible horse eyes
it had neither leg nor finger
but saphire alcoves on its sides.
Not entertaining is a form of perfuming.
From uncomfortable turbulence to tornado,
hidden atoms drawn by equinoctial channels, a
listless mane begins to form.
And meetings of careless toe and you deceived in the panic and continued a twisting viola.
Be guided by the secure old warrior's medal's path.
Lighting from hushed cedar.
I wish to make a quadrangle
in front of, and every abstraction, many
times hidden in a ribbon.
It was the day of the lobster.
Outside the tear stained flower, many shady felicities.
It was the morning of the turkey.
Among the muzzled bell, many demonic oxides.