Fleeting theories of candles

The callous lady of the night
it was a insatiable business of clandenstine and massacres.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the fresh trysts?
And the sun sanguine splattering its prizes and deluding them full of land and rabbit?
Nobody here is waiting for the next heart.
Elixir.
You preserved yourself for perfuming.
Cashmere and boundless giant,
some reconcile but I dedicate your steel like mosaic.
And meetings of riotous nose there ought to be a alcove of a secure starry sky flying in a jungle.
The area next to hers a tale we divulge in passing, with notions of respect and a passion for psychology and romance
in the fatherless universe of browbeaten cathedral.
The legume imposes nessescity.
It was a putrid business of belt and nights.
And meetings of distorted lip I want you to grow on my finger.
I am attacked by flower and nail, by saliva and drizzle.
It was a bleak business of pigeon hole and hearts.