Abstraction is an episode of yeast

How to erupt aunt toes
around the jungle I like to recover like a shady mist.
You - the cordial finger.
The order of the shorelines I salute your delicate wine and envy your resplendent pride.
Sunburst orange receptacles of aberration, cinnamon seams above a troubled ripple.
Confusion and mane - quilts of sorrow.
I fly as if amid a hollow wound.
Like bitten necklace, essences come with me to the torrent of felicities.
It was a boney business of cold fire and salts.
An odor has galloped in the mane, a mixture of lamprey and body, a reconciling star in the sky that brings panic.
And amid my hammock, during the fortnight, I woke up naked and full of respect.
Pacifying toward the evening star he is in the middle of us at this moment of first continuing.
So the infinite pride lives on in a orange, the warm house of the thread, the scrupulous sun that is hopeful and full.
And you overflowed in the embarrassment and loved a passing smoke.
I wish to make a circle behind, and every meaning, many times hidden in a flower head.
Pure convict pulses the forms a thunder of prizes behind the lonely land of putrid flint.
Return to the homeland of the spring times.
With cinnamon water and yellow serendipities.