some of the dryness will bleach from pithing your noetic strands and the rest, a **** prinked rind deluded.
i dip cupped hands into the lowlands, scraping fractal mold flakes captioned, answers in light crowded lenses.
cubic rift, that, i will toss adoration engines, in the end, the goddess of substance will not react.
not retrace, not the rift. mortaled caper, inflection of the flats, grinded reactions. grinding thoughts grounded.
scribbled to-dos spreading forth, immurdered. tokenized spice cabinets, enter rift refuge. the caper collapses on molar-novas, solar lepidoptera folding in your hair.
the sweat-between-us hive. the separatist mind. salt mines alarm us, a subject deepened between two gestures. have you the stratum of intention?
germinal grains, embryonic clock tower - mineral lies don timescales tucked in our hereafter mattress.
i will deathlessly dry with a towel unless iām showering with it, a full commit to the status kiss.
[after all that, you still love me, in the bedlam trees the choral key, the old oak door embroidery are pieces of me scattered (spelled) naturally.]