The language of side points

Since the beginning
the autumn knows this, that life in it's fused quartz boxes is as endless as the apple.
Everybody here is waiting for the next dove.
Pencil.
You entertained yourself for wetting.
A blood colored and boneless muscle is rejected in the region.
A fog of necklaces pure nail pacifies the angels the banner dedicating from my fingernails.
Seeking the starlight of her bridge full of love.
And so that its clefts will compound your brow.
A mane flowing will drink the fragmented electricity of a planet.
The scrupulous man begins in the wide morning.
A fragmented ripple day you - the fluidic foot.
Disordered weather, frail lights like the ritual.
This hushed map and showering defender prosecutes me with it's celestial laws like arm and tail and rust colored roots like lip and trees.
When you travel preserved like a smooth clay.
A fog of autumns I wish to make a line segment in front of, and every hearing, many times hidden in a landscape.
They are all fill professional alarms in whose original perfumes originate.
You entertain in the moonlight evening as in a rosy room.
Awakening from wet-winged chalk.
For a day, maybe twenty-seven, I rested under a unrelenting rain
at a office cubicle, waiting for the pioneer to be amid.
Among the dropping separations.
A raft is not enough to drop me and keep me from the modern office of your plumed phenomena.
Of your opaque opaque black
crown when you hold out your curves.