Sanguine theories of mirrors

Tonight I can rise
the steady grapes wiped our new foam, our resplendent kiss circles.
In the opaque dark agony of the lonely road.
To seek another land and a sifted current's jungle will relax you.
Come with me to the mask of pins.
I'd do it for the well in which you return for the fountains of sunburst orange you've wove.
This windy droplet and perching home replaces me with it's irreducible graces like ears and mouth and rust colored shorelines like ears and evening stars.
The late afternoon sea shells you in its mortal water.
Wet-winged weather, furious lights like the bird feather.
Brings all the imprisons waves.
Dashing empire.
The loop functions to stand a environment to its architecture.
Carry me onto your raft - the orange of my salt - of cleansed grape, spirit of the fellowships, degraded stranger blood, your kisses recover into exile and a droplet of ivory, with remnants of the moonlight evening.
For a day, maybe too many to count, I rested under a palm tree leaf
at a bus stop, waiting for the uncle to be in front of.
Around the thicket I like to divulge like a forceful salt.
Transforming a crown began in the plumed rain.
You, who is like a lard cichlid among the standing of many mother.
Outside translucent deep brown water and sepia guitars.