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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-01-26 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
lapel of the night
gives rows of tweed signatures to intergalactic scarf of green trustworthy gas slippery ears hungry ears the flag of some crunchy phone flower 2,000 f(l)eet long grisky petitjack down the raspberry snow ocean eyes my dear glasses made of cotton are your smile glaze your nauru-based hammock for pocket stars for the taste of the air that does everything by doing nothing nothing but blue bananas covering our hungry ears a galaxy of towels and wet tortillas auroras are your earrings and my words are chickpeacock-feathered ambrosia to be delivered in 24h aubergine door of desire but truth has its own crops on the glaciers of someone's teeth mine yours who knows except the chameleon who is x% likely to adapt to our wisenut cherryburger shimmering colour (to be served with stars made of ice cream)
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