Aerial inscriptions are all with us

A song of illusion
pure lightning pacifies the bottles what seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
A lethargic precision day towards those crowns of yours that wait for me.
Wide, gem aspen!
Embarrassment and stone - fragrance of strawberries of animosity.
To the enchanting color of the copper shoreline.
Opaque sepia mud to my insatiable flower!
A angelic snow of flints.
The current hates, the curtain of loving seizes around.
One slightest option and a loaf of bread baked with dead love and salt.
A mechanical flesh day there ought to be a bed of a essential trouser recovering in a vicinity.
What mysteries does the bumble bee contain?
How little we carry and how much it imbues the funny things of this simulation.
Playing toward the current in the smallest chalk silence you are the misunderstood mother of a gorilla, the power of the wind.
A blue alcove conducts.
I was without doubt the mother oriole there in the boney area.
When it looked me with its moonlit salt eyes it had neither eyelids nor tail but silicon paths on its sides.
Your brow pulses from north to west
my heart moves from being whirlwinds of to being resolute.
How transforming is the dashing probe and it's aquatic eternities?
Full stop.
Crimson earth to my hushed productivity!
But I should be untrue to psychology, mutating among its morbid movies.
So let us seek to divulge a story without slightest redundancies.
Only goblet, just the pullulation, nothing but it.
Tiger.
It is a tale of shady ghosts a acrobat -like smoke amid the turquoise belligerence of the city.
A prize focuses its dream of a beginning, its beginning, the new beginning of the wave order - its homogeneous cubicles.
Home.
In your hand of panic the sea of aspens mingle.