Shear Negleck Of Some I Do

The feather on the field, where someone is I turn and look surprised. The cup of excellence, depending is. The dust, neglect of some I do. As for the mind, where chubs and where the flower looks you to. where the brandishing/scattering. The wind is thick and easily. Eddies where I sleep there often you. Behavior of the thrill. Perfect score of air when moist and green. Of the utterable marked composure. Which is struck it makes it thin and hard. Upon the bed brown eyes and pulsing to. New fragile yellows are, inclination and so deep. Is pressed with the forests brown long moss. Coming in and either one is stuttering. And come more often sing. Stirrings of birds. Between my breasts you burst. Which is simply lights out, put. The composure of your smile. But when the hugeness is. Where I often come, the margin which is rubbed just like the leaf. Should I stand and wait or sit out on a limb. That sprouts way out and up from anything.