The night sky placed with tangerine dusk, as the small landing instep brandished within caterpillar spirals, to release them as molten disarm, vanquished repelled depleted, the moon the crest, dislodging placement. Two words, one everlasting breath, dweller to the uninvited guest, the age of inclusive to befall with a starry wry. We are, spoken into by addressing your punishment, our befallen freedom, the game you don’t play, though you are of lasting to it.

The skies orange, with tangerine dusk, they housed their orders, forwarding them are the spoken age, compelling are our wistful words of another in wait. Memories they are tangerine or golden with implying to know you knew the resemblance, mistrust is glorified punishment, the altruistic state ode before them, feelings capitalize the small of a worthless word imprinted.

2022 © Adam Blewett