Unbeknowst to all,
The tree of life has three stages.
Trunk. Branch. Oil.
Terrence Malick knew this.
Dinosaurs our oil.

Ten sephira. One oil.
It is my burden of dreams, I shall prevail through the pongo del muerto.
Foucault's pendulum spilling sand. Spilling oil.

Scaoil. Release. Urchar.
Sraith pictiúr a ceathar.
Airborne toxic event.
Seepage Daniel. Seepage.
Put Oil.

Qu'est-ce que vous êtes,
Je vois vos yeux,
Dans le nuit.

Mon seul ami.
Ma belle copine,
Vous êtes ma vie.

La poesie de mes contanporaires.
M'inspire.
Je le respire,
Je lire, ça me tue.
C'est ma vie.

Body

What are you? Are you mine? Or that visual image of one solipsist?

I often wonder of that ****** sense. I shall believe for now -

But

One and their life experience shall determine my opinion on this most gentle subject.

I do not mean to offend. You see, I do not mean to offend. But I have to.

Word.

The first time I saw you,
Standing up on stage,
Your gentle protruderence beckoned,
I yearned for your girth.
Standing alongside one Michael Cassio.
A Florentine.
My eyes could not escape.
I disregarded my A1 in English,
All I wanted was the D.