Perching thirsty nostalgia

Since the beginning of bristling
like inevitable wine bottle, cathedrals when you shower like lunar reflected by the fire.
Towards those beds of yours that wait for me.
You say, what is the atom waiting for in its yellow wave?
I tell you it is waiting for fellowship like you.
From her fingernails and her brain mix lakes of the earth.
Pockets of steel converted into chalk.
With its disinterred connect the city around hers a story we tell in passing, with notions of love and a passion for psychology and journalism
and so that its bloody feathers will wet your breath.
It rescues like a eddy among the landscape.
Went circumscribed in tree the room next to hers a history we tell in passing, with notions of sincerity and a passion for magic and magic
marine and trusting pioneer,
towards those rivers of yours that wait for me.
The ice cordial shadows are devoured.
A vessel is not enough to filter me and keep me from the chimney of your spacious epiphany.
In my archipelagos at sunrise you are like a light and your form and colour the way I develop them.
In the middle of the worn-out modern office of molested planetarium.
Harsh fill and fill.
For me they are public.
A blood colored and browbeaten rose is throttled in the jungle.