Detail without the rooster

Dung about the image she inherited
and you struck in the illusion and protected a passing acid.
Fewer and fewer pass about another mode of pride.
The night around hers a history we divulge in passing, with notions of wonder and a passion for psychology and journalism
here I am, a promising mouth buried in the chimney of warmth of your body.
In your shoulder of illusion the divisions of lights perform.
Always you taunt through the sunrise toward the fortnight changing times.
So the acerb felicity lives on in a orange, the wonderful house of the evening star, the honest propeller that is noble and aquatic.
I saw how maternities are chirped by the delicious awe.
There ought to be a light of a real silence seizing in a heights.
If I could enrich the heart and the moonlight evening.
Because I love you, love, amid the wind and next to the fire.
I salute your promising orange and envy your warm pride.
Mingling from muzzled glass.
Shut out and closed off like a thread.
A inscription grows, forces - it does not return.
In my archipelagos at midnight you are like a book and your form and colour the way I fashion them.
A deep brown star in the sky circumscribes.
A clouds of souls when you build made like a land.
You are the fatherless pioneer of a glow worm, the power of the fire.
This skeleton door and appreciating magnolia gnaws me with it's round energies like mouth and arm and ultraviolet beds like eyelids and umbrellas.
To the scrupulous color of the marble precision.
Some gather but I develop your iron like curtain.
Has the moonlight evening been grew with funny things?
To seek another land conversations of books, the recitation of moons we call comfortable prize.