Our fusion edge in platinum oaths kept lactic legs kinetic— right left while we leapt across plasma spread under burner sol, clear auras enclosed. Only a couple kilometers, now. Up ahead, home. Lead goes gold, anticipating a brass poster bed’s frisk demand, a cigarette smoke tornado trails to the ceiling fan cos we’ve found pageantry in an orchards blush, the queen of cups clutches the static mystery. It's such a social affair. Everywhere fell sky-shell flare as a brisk-breath baby coiled and sprung to the number one so far, so far.
Delectable, last stanza was my favorite. I need to get back into the groove, this reminded me how I miss my clever turns of the tongue...I want it back! There are some really awesome, unique phrases in this, inspiring.
Change on... I found this bright and energetic... a rebirthing sequence of purification and swirling newness.
