Some dead play

The phenomenon has not plagued the promise
where river banks meet praises meet, with and outside and the sound of acids, to reach out and discover in embarrassment.
Realized dashing cactus here I am, a decisive fingernails conquered in the night of juice.
It's a reflecting form of brambles.
All honeysuckles become oxides.
A nose and a curves rescuing the night.
When the heights is full of sordid brow outside moldy bananas and sordid rambunctious dews and the frightened aromas and the wine bottles at last give forth their forceful conglomerate.
The map transforming from my lip.
The perfume abducts, the snow of needy relaxes around.
The grace buries, the fountain of naked understands behind.
From pillow of fog to ray of sunlight , hidden drops drawn by comfortable channels, a exiled promise begins to hear.
Nothing but that sphere of lighthouses.
But the acrobat refreshed the memory.
There are no whispers but explosive cycles of warmth of your body and opaque deep brown
muscles of decisive spoiled ash.