Bizarre At Tombs

I’m alien flowers, and turquoise pains, peering at facial cries—a burgundy grunt, this plastic calm, this mermaid voyage; as beige interior, or yellow retreats, pulling at shadows. Oh for perfect beauty, those cryptic butterflies, that intimate exchange—to perish by sex, as craving insanity, a furnace filled with broken glass. I’m alien powers, as one bizarre, holding a fetching diamond; as hell was born, seeping into bones, as ever so ecstatic—gazing at ivory, while drawing ivy, this blend as detrimental: our chase through fields; our outer grandeur; a tie as a pair of panties; to furnish membranes, that teasing picture, that sweet candor—as smelling roses, or lemonade soap, while warm that space of souls. I’m sick to love, this aura of crystal tears, addicted that gyration; where arts flourish, this motivation, as carrying a genius; that blue duck soaring, aside a green pigeon, or a dusky brown crow—were gods to flourish, or to flourish as gods, grounded in purple pepper—this puppeteer, as pure as hidden, this Peruvian nightmare; where hell was gorgeous, even gravity, as gripping as a pair of cleats. I’m alien showers, afield a desert, painting tumbleweeds—to cry that name, as games to children, that adolescent addiction: our curious ills, while graded as souls, to manage as bizarre. I loved a crystal, to ignite a spell, to feel a boomerang; this violent treasure, or fiery lakes, such motion as sitting still. It’s cold to passion, our split venues, as souls creeping through crevices; where snails speak, while grasshoppers leap, where centipedes write letters; as coursing this brain, this outer dilemma, refreshed through chaos—this inner miracle, to taste eternity, longing for that moment; to dismiss pains, while scraping ribs, a soul as humbled highly—indeed, his life, a thread to a rose, a web to a spider—that inner light, a rocket to a dream, this furious woman.

I return a falcon, as morphing through eagles, our systems as screaming—for precious shelter, that roving dispute, ravished as one an animal—that deep exchange, as a moment to notice, while shifting through high tides; where love was vicious, as fraught ambitions, this cordial dilemma; to ache with closure, as gates swung open, this friendship as pushing sanity. I’m lost as found, this zealous heaven, asearch for an intimate haven; as flipping pillows, while searching dins, as one a bit bizarre. I caught an angle, this small magic, running through living-rooms; to turn with passion, to leap so high, as to enter his brain; as born again, craving this vixen, as to enter by cadence that light—atoning his sins, pierced as one bleeding, fumbling a pair of earrings.