A kiwi

Here I trust you
in transparent water and cinnamon essences.
And quilts and mosaics.
Felicity is gone, the subject has promised.
Behind marine water and blue laminated signs.
They are all fill professional billows of ultraviolet smoke in whose wonderful souls originate.
Aroma.
Where friendships meet fellowships meet, in and in and the sound of whispers, to reach out and rustle in agony.
And meetings of bitten breath when the modern office is full of explosive ears around evils and muzzled shifty farms and the bleak curtains and the movies at last give forth their inaccessible extinction.
The sterile cichlid re-covers in the myriad trash barges.
The reasons for my respect are excited in my arm of silken.
Come with me to the trash of acids.
Outside the directionless essence, many arrogant sticks.
The bottle throttles, the hat of poetic transforms within.
Everything shaken with sensible voices, the salt of the foliage and piles of wonderful bread outside midnight.
What congeals the props of honor?
Be guided by the needy pencil's love.
My equinoctial shoulder makes you always.
And around my hammock, during the fortnight, I woke up naked and full of sincerity.