Told (I objected) as though you were the one I was scared to object but I poisoned your blind wet comb in a hurry against your body hair and my aphasia.

My pouts I suffocated in oatmeal so bridges I build move heaven in carriages to you and along your rimming perception I see and attract, me kissed across a coital meadow with your sex seating soot along my britches.

My haunches wear fear were fair.

Warfare I move to be at the new bridge looking very small behind trauma.

This means I hurry wet trees in almost lavender patterns to cite the peacock and fortress the bridge to grow it strong.

It could taste my mouth as my small running dream you almost spindle closed, the nose, my home, any utensils I use, the new moon to be away from you, trip then plant taste at your crooked running.

I post beauty, another post in the bridge treeing.

How can I build without wanting to sell you my chrysalis and lights so you can see me back at those old oatmealed bridges.

Are you finally poisoned.


I know spinning and work and tone and water is two wheeling is in this fell you kissed myself you were all you’ll wake I thought.

Conscious, I slow I take about you had better really calm and pout a Wonderland in it in my realm of couldn’t you’d better not hit anything on the head my condolences and I was the one treeing here I was that upset that when there were condolences they weren’t directed at me.

But it being not when but then it being then I manipulate you I believe you don’t object then when as I flexed I had read out to your uncertainty at the rain I created then and tried hard to brew rumors.