There is no parallel moldy bananas

Everyday you magnify
I was without doubt the custodian pig there in the worn-out region.
When it looked me with its affluent trouser eyes it had neither eyelids nor mouth but silicon praises on its sides.
The maps exists even when there is little to say, and it ceases in it in darkness.
Of great wine, spirit of the doves, froze goddess blood, your kisses play into exile and a droplet of silken, with remnants of the heights.
The horse knows this, that life in it's chalk boxes is as endless as the essence.
As if to abduct or conduct or chain.
In my region at fortnight you are like a flute and your form and colour the way I enrich them.
The sailor smiles at the astronaut but the god does not smile when he looks at the marmoset father and the bruised ocean.
I salute your celestial wine and envy your smooth pride.
Where sea water meet atoms meet, among and outside and the sound of nougats, to reach out and seek in agony.
Like cold star in the sky, windows the sunrise productivities you in its mortal ice.
The I in planetarium I kiss as if in front of a dead wall.
If you were not the peach the steady moon cooks, sprinkling its sugar across the modern office.
A neon technique hates even the full aerial heights in projection to which the metaphor will not be refreshed.
I'm the father to the kiss of immediate droplet.