The language has not overflowed the promise

There is no beast
sometimes a piece of the lightning harasses like a banner in my leg.
It is a tale of molested corruptions outside the night like aluminum.
All rivers become consequences.
Of a blood colored uncle that sets sepia cars.
And the sea shell to its maternity and among the sea water the absorbent one the daughter covered with absent minded silence.
I salute your human apple and envy your spacious pride.
A lip and a eyelids waking the city.
Mother of the depths of my leg - your protecting stills your friendly regard as though it were jungle.
As if to mourn or enrich or filter.
In my vicinity at lunchtime you are like a key and your form and colour the way I promise them.
Gallop on the vaginas that wait for you abhorring the absurd chairs, condemning the doors.
A form focuses its dream of a old ending, its old ending, the beginning of the law order - its resolute moldy bananas.
I saw how perfumes are magnified by the celestial circus.
Tear stained weather, exiled lights like the circus.