It rustled with candles
poetry·@whatagooddayitis·
0.000 HBDIt rustled with candles
He has a furious complex agony and productivity - momentum of confusion. There ought to be a starry sky of a great femininity expanding in a chimney. Perching the moon of her hat full of joy. As if to prosecute or carry or congeal. In your brow of animosity the archipelagos of trousers fashion. A incredulous rug making a mineral thing of a chance meeting with a child. To the fresh color of the gold breakfast. A loop outside a circle, the windy workings of angelic law. A snow focuses its dream of a beginning, its old ending, the old ending of the moon order - its sensual rotten stumps. A loaf of bread baked with insufferable respect and salt. Around the vicinity I like to mingle like a fragmented starry sky. Shall we proceed? To chirp lost bells and for crimson cars. It was a misunderstood business of moth and puberties. I wish to make a square within, and every sense, many times hidden in a magnolia. A loaf of bread baked with disordered purity and salt. In your eye of anger the vicinity of productivities return. To the celestial color of the wooden path.