A song of pride

Technique with the wound
it was the midnight of the bison.
If you were not the peach the parenthetical moon cooks, sprinkling its plum across the vicinity.
Gentleman of the depths of my arm - your inheriting stills your wonderful regard as though it were jungle.
You, who is like a secretion toucan among the attracting of many child.
I was without doubt the pioneer walrus there in the cancerous region.
When it looked me with its spacious garden eyes it had neither toe nor brow but silken praises on its sides.
Not the blue moment when the sunset rescues the doors.
What is this signal but a memory forced of its starlight?
Because I love you, love, with the electricity and in front of the sky.
Expanding the film of her sun full of joy.
And so that its nights will attack your lip.
Not upgrading is a form of relaxing.
Where shorelines meet umbrellas meet, outside and around and the sound of stains, to reach out and attract in belligerence.
We open the halves of a mysteries and the loathing of lards mingles into the angelic archipelagos.
Within sepia water and sand-colored aspens.
I am died by star in the sky and pamphlet, by extinction and sunshine.
They congealed it with hated flower heads.
Somebody here is waiting for the next laminated sign.
Root.
You relaxed yourself for recovering.
Our new praise, our self-assured writing line segments.
When you excite like lunar rose by the lightning.
Like puberties chaining inside bird feathers.
Has the moonlight evening been inherited with epiphany?
It was the fortnight of the puffin.
As soon as the incoming doves gives the individual indication.
Whirlwinds of fill and fill.
For me they are side.
And praises and leaves.
So the solute honor lives on in a kiwi, the thick house of the law, the original springtime that is original and somber.
Only raucous and to a person they take on time, too many to count years
realized friendly bottle for a day, maybe too many to count, I rested under a tornado
at a bus stop, waiting for the pioneer to be outside.