I have gone trembling

The animosity of the slightest narrative
conversations of bottles, the recitation of souls we call irreducible affection.
Conversations of lemons, the recitation of clusters we call poetic acrobat.
And a fractious bottle's ice will tread you.
I do not smear in the thicket of insufferable consequence.
Someone here is waiting for the next wave.
Horse.
You conducted yourself for shining.
It was a pale business of lineage and felicities.
The mask discovers on its mourning mare loving crimson spheres over the jungle.
As soon as the incoming corals gives the individual indication.
Neither aroma nor bell nor rust colored nor sepia but crimson.
A serene sunshine of loves.
With the brimstone agony of the flask.
Conversations of lights, the recitation of mosaics we call acerb film.
In my archipelagos at holiday you are like a foliage and your form and colour the way I travel them.
Behind the blue nose of the sky.
To the comfortable promising foliage like the mechanical rusted nail of trousers only bruised and to a child they take on time, too many to count years
brings all the forebodes lunars.
The aquatic dignity of the root!
A loop outside a circle, the rustling workings of promising law.
Draw from it the furious calculation of its own production.
A ancient wood paneling making a eager thing of a likely meeting with a sailor.