but
sheer dramatism or meadows impure dying to its deity. to shear sheep or analyze
answers as remote creatures. to have ownership while disgruntle where lesbians
share chemistry. a man watches while losing access or lashes out. nor were authors exempt by radiant disdain to have believed it as medical. the crossed sword
the two-edged brain where one needs to own others. by sheer submission or
unruly demands so satiated but sad. it was glass buildings or heartnut persistence
while Love was angered by wisdom. such thin, blue faculties, such harvested
stripes, where we commit our dungeons. indeed. too gray. or much assertion. nor
did spirit hide softly. if but glaciers even France to imagine racing our
satisfaction. a woman pines, a man might lust, both are joyous midday. such
gravity by greater ambition or heartwood seeming enlightened. (it fathoms as
mind understands while we give it its ruling factor.) where authors feel flame
those smaller matters as they dress discomfort or unravel infant dreams in such
a manner to unveil human scars. it strays from personal, but it’s always
personal, while we idolize objectivity. where one writes as blatant a claim
into a river asserting its dryness. where have souls gone? what takes precedence?
nor were eyes closed peering desperately.
