pretend less silence in a land
where pain is catapult—the fire of the lion more rain in deserts an oasis in
those eyes. pretend we don’t die. pretend we stay sober. so many times a cad in
his livers. mainline detriment major soulmate deluxe, so more problems in those
hours. a pillow for us a quilt in destiny a thorn when absent. so personal with
another, does it die, does it mean those cherries? more to mean goodness, less
to mean salvation, so much at wasps in our quarters.
choir is next. prayer is fervent.
we call upon mounts or treasures or hopes in allegories. trying to get so close
as to life just to undress her miseries; much rest in unrest, a soul knows
sorrow’s pangs.
it sounds sweet, once excellence
shatters, “One more chance, I’ll be right, it was a mistake.” potent diligence
many aches with images all over her excellence. warring mirrors falling to
tiles with just a little bit to sense redemption.
closeness is a physician Israel is
legacy, we try to appease scientific mountain. so tender the famine addicted to
one body like living is so sinful. a curse in Jesus a blessing in returning, so
much essence the second time. freesia ornaments my time bleeding where to
receive you is to take more as pretend. Sidon eyes, Canaanite arms, manumission
Hittite hips—a special kind of losing, too much Syrian pride, our nights
bathing in Jerusalem. a song so loved a person living there more at our
amusement. too many nets too many fishers while nothing is what we would
cherish. the contempt is the liquor, the excellence is in sentience, a creature
finding to receive is to question.
too wrong to be
right. too dead to be living. henceforth, is water, baptism, our delicate
souls. hear testimony as alert in ten regions upon a bullhorn screaming at
elephants. take it, live it, have like it was those souls—all needing you all
praising you, so unreal but satisfying, laying out pestilence loving pestilence
too adored to renege on pestilence.
