BrokenMoon

It was the champagne liking all to heavy on my mind, violas in accordance with those lately of displacement. Should the pairing of sounding underscores reduce in the reprise of nocturnal chatter and studious wonderment; tracing the cool evening air, to a path well recorded through silken pelts of beauty in my endeavouring heart. They play to a humble in abode, beneath the hazy trickling, of summer strawberries, of owls, in audience a platypus bellows in reed of show.

Tout the horizon were dreams where silhouettes of stolen industry, capitalised, to the displaced heart, earth crunching, dirt devouring capture of mesh my stray, industrial glue to cage the impetuous ashen lives of a champagne income. Delivering to the courage on tomorrows song, replacing the chatter of moonlit echo; placidly rains of thought enable her a looking through the lazy trickle of my paving recollection.

Induction labelled to render a conductive amount of viable mesh or surrender, the collection of hearts paving. Measuring unobtrusive, the lack of and to their hidden silted demeanor of catch, in watch a moonlit shallow of the softest bellow, delivering to thatch of trickle in strawberry, out of collection in a prominent weave of longing lust and or a bonding lace.

Drawing a sequel to retrace, in place the pondering of a destructive pelt, cabled in heart, to a prism of release. Defining in seduce, a culpable trail of wonderment, redirected under the clouding sky mist, all to the indoctrinate of the owls outward injustice, conspicuous in a bound of billowing audience the stroke of one past midnight.

Adam Blewett © 2019.