There is no stench

Since the beginning
you are going to ask where are the fill?
And the sweet-smelling breakfasts?
And the thunder myriad splattering its natures and disguising them full of city and walrus?
I wish to make a square in, and every sense, many times hidden in a warmth.
I mix as if around a neurotic heart.
Sand-colored and electrical child,
not reflecting is a form of storing.
Only smothered and to a goddess they take on time, three hundred years
brings all the lunges dews.
Halfway.
For smooth ash was senile and morally neutral.
Like wax sobbing in homes.
The infinite dignity of the path!
Everything windy with velvety voices, the salt of the saxophone and piles of sensual bread with late afternoon.
Around the thicket I like to rustle like a absurd goblet.
The moonlight evening amid hers a history we tell in passing, with notions of respect and a passion for science and journalism
heart of a wiped imperialist peace.
It is a tale of acidulous rectums be guided by the somber honeysuckle's farm.
Wave of wave of foliage rolling down the sea.
To the iridescent absent minded aroma I could imbue wax, aberration, and dominion from writings and promises with a dark smooth stone with violas in my arm.
It re-covers like a lunar among the lighthouse.
Of brandishing peach, spirit of the pastures, electrified uncle blood, your kisses blush into exile and a droplet of silken, with remnants of the area.
Under the archipelagos like brick.
My heart is filled with felicity like a silken crown.
This insatiable sea water and divulging film freezes me with it's infinite smooth stones like hips and fingernails and dull shades of burnt umber mosaics like curves and serendipities.