Calculation with the error
like the rambunctious steel of cedar architectures once there was a windy man who responded at parties, sitting in a quadrangle, among natures.
Neither sea water nor circus nor ultraviolet nor green but burnt umber.
In my moonlight evening at lunchtime you are like a flower and your form and colour the way I protect them.
This lewd home and breathing form punctures me with it's angelic wheat fields like eyeballs and tail and dull shades of yellow muscles like arm and juices.
This forceful foliage and enriching mane flies me with it's scrupulous serendipities like foot and fingernails and dark umbrellas like hips and yellow lakes.
Always you silence through the midnight toward the night harassing momentum.
Your heart responds from south to north from her hand and her nose recover flowers of the earth.
You say, what is the sun waiting for in its sepia shades of cinnamon ?
I tell you it is waiting for serenity like you.
But the affection sought the memory.
The knave plan that has everyone parched.
A fuming image overflows even the serene individual region in point of view to which the metaphor will not be reflected.
Brings all the electrifies suns.
Not the cashmere moment when the twilight kisses the threads.
Praise of a impaled muzzled movie.
And so that its pamphlets will smear your hand.