Here, where our mountains become fragrances.
Here, where our musings become clock horses.
Two misguided steps under the ocean, you cant brush it off.
The cleanliness of your ways, is meaning to tell of the scope of understanding
But let this eventual fall take you through a current
Its more about god? Yet, than i? More about the instrumentalism of a God than the rich study of humans. Thats okay, i guess.
How well mannered.
Why is it so hard to find the tooth and nail affection? From every distance, I see this path as a continuing. It’s very easy to tolerate, but I’m telling you, it’s got little to do with relaxed or similar.
Again and again, I choose the festering palace of unnamed touch, something as simple as a selfless gourge of instrumentation. It’s common all the same, to see things erect and tumble as if no person could verify what existed before a lateral communication.
At will of self and peculiar fishing, the odd of climbing the heresy is understable in a mutation not far from teetering pleasure.
I guess, the pleasure’s all his.
And of course gain no insight from it, it is in the pool of my meadow, the drink of my hand, the plastic keys from my dresser. All of everything must be applied for the right progeny. Or give something to someone as a childish concern.
You cam beg from prayer what you so were up to feeling, as the feeling was of a lost touch.
Yet, reality, purged of distraction and
Continue reading →
It starts with me loving you, then
To keep this in mind, a great disintegration of facts
After it’s so neutral, it can’t be explored.
Want of touch so flavorful and sound.
Teach kids how to ride on the back of ponies.
Stare at silence for a minute of astral lining.
Keep quiting and quit starting.
But this is not how it looks,
To edge us on, similarity in poise
Redemptive in choice.
Matter of face or case.
Come to terms with latitude,
I surround myself with a new castle, brave and fit for my desire.
Calm as an ocean, stronger than wire.
Real or imagined.
Not much has been accepted since our last prank call. You assume I exist under the cue of oppression. I give to you my bleakest expression of why I am existing. But for you it may be a bone you’ll grow used to. Strata may upheave deprivation. You could calculate some information. I have the better synopsis for you, even though I don’t.
That’s just but small work.
and this against some flood, marry as we may be.