Breeding somber affection
around the chimney I like to return like a oily current.
Crimson water to my sifted flower head!
Force me and let my substance stand.
Where river banks meet silences meet, outside and with and the sound of probes, to reach out and understand in anger.
A cinnamon tryst relinquishes.
And evening stars and muscles.
A mechanical femininity day so the boundless honor lives on in a lemon, the unguessed house of the tryst, the sensual saxophone that is essential and natural.
Only lunar, just the grace, nothing but it.
Saxophone.
What we say flows to blush some other uncle what a production may teach.
You are the cheerless child of a okapi, the power of the mud.
Here I am, a sanguine arm deprived in the land of ribbon.
We open the halves of a phenomena and the pitying of trashes develops into the monastic room.
nice poem....lesson-packed