I can float an engineless boat by using a particular expression.
I can smoke a kind of paperless hello while barreling through twice over surf. Primal won the rough stuff and favors, but Etna erupted cream-corn and cavity rock.
Breakers, topside takers, spontaneous talk about sex. I take after those sounds and little fits and starts all to find her name – look in – all to find her name in cool mad-beat persuasions.
Metamorphosis now in the word-farm wake up: heard her reaching through her skin with opinions. Motorcars, day come cross feather bed where she lay. Day do draw shadows down her neck which thinks she’s asleep; day do draw open the lids for her flashy and puckered close-ups.
I am thinking of something dramatic. An earthquake, which makes not a sound, escapes like the weightless taste of strawberries. The important, mumbling book records everlasting undress.