(poetry) stories about lonely whales and seagulls under the moon

his body bathed in light when the tea aroma of cloves and cinnamon stay drunk out
My eyes were closed in the mirror of the iris, which was suddenly symmetrical
his charms were guessing into the night air toward the catalyst
until the silhouette of my friend in a high degree of loneliness later empirical

occasionally skip the horizon just to glance at you who are counting the constellations of stars

and when your child's hair loosens up sparkly,
and when the choppy, sparkling foam sparks into the rock,
and when the odor of the sea is so odd and the perception of bias strikes,
and when the bunch of branches warmly guards you from the stray dogs about to hit,
and when nyiur-nyiur more lifeless and implied than day,
then pray for the eastern storm over the time of the toast,
I can not remember my memory of you before he was carried by the evening wind,

and lost

may rain not come
and inflamed