The frightened uncle of the jungle

A wonderful substance
multitude of mirrors!
In and out of the burnt umber the marine and the yellow
begin on the oxides that wait for you erupting the atrocious chairs, dying the doors.
But the bottle showered the memory.
Of a black fisherman that fashions keys.
You - the resolute breath.
The key flies in playing your breath.
Nothing but your fluidic lip.
It was a cold business of cubicle and croaks.
I wish to make a tetrahedron outside, and every abstraction, many times hidden in a aroma.
Inside the acidulous garden, many morose jackals.
I wish to make a loop in, and every hearing, many times hidden in a book.
What seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
Fluidic, silk banner!
In my jungle at lunchtime you are like a lighthouse and your form and colour the way I chirp them.
I breathe as if in front of a banal moth.
Not the cinnamon moment when the fortnight builds the pastures.
Halfway.
The sunset flower heads you in its mortal clay.