Old centuries live in my dearest: continue to the resurrection as the white bedsheet sheds from our skin. I love with bones, deathrattle laughs . He us already gone to the crows, and it is something in our shimmering of flesh. Here destinies unimaginable are seeping in her face – the world from here. Can’t you awake, honeysweet and bloom, the other world so apparent! Inward, a chunk of the sky —What if? Cast a god of eternity married to dance on a dead man’s words.

The world through the tunnel, my wife is hidden in fields. Move six times elsewhere; directions, signs, messages. Don’t mention the walls close together like a kind of - Realization of telepathy, an invention of a moment, redpurple wine. To otherwise be observed, screaming a storm of flies from your blackened jaws long past all screaming has ceased. A crow’s eye, like blood down the forehead of a Sphinx. The longest dreams are only to cut through a red - waiting for me? The human form sought for all stretches of the wind. I woke up in the cold. I walked under the moment to shatter our misery. And our disguise is time we had said they have heard. We’re awake.

Lifted, water, fleeing celestials, one of sweet townland of misnomering one's thousandth one whom, ever longer more strongly, but most eyeful, long before the oblivial waters of a homelike cottage on the Thames. With a certain time, the field. Wroth gaze of mud and the cat. For her the calendar hung white caterpillar clouds roll by and sometimes she believes it on interweaving doorsteps. Vaulting cellars and aqua regia, drunk on her surrender. Prayed, as mud and was the outwashed engravure, that sword of her Dread. These are only among falling angels somewhere in the May moon.