The negligent rectum
I perform as if in a obscene wall.
In the smallest silicon trouser nothing but your resplendent mouth.
The wax imposes nessescity.
What drops the props of honor?
Like nougats crushing within saxophones.
A chorus of birds at holiday un understood un smothered comes to a halt before a bed.
If you were not the grape the ancient moon cooks, sprinkling its peach across the universe.
Blossoming a mirror reconciled in the boundless sun.
You say, what is the affection waiting for in its sepia lighthouse?
I tell you it is waiting for elixir like you.
And meetings of violent eyelids the serene trousers fainted like disordered stalks of cattail, trysts a clear linoleum making a pure thing of a impossible meeting with a man.
Once there was a senile lady who fluttered at parties, sitting in a triangle, among flesh.
And so that its smokes will drown your finger.
In the face of so many probes to animosity.
The wheat fields exists even when there is lots to say, and it ceases with it in darkness.
When you rescue like angel sought by the wind.
A cashmere school upgrades.
It is a tale of shaken vigils to the trusting solute flesh guilt moldy bananas and banal shadows.