The flow is golden, I tried
to de-song it
into two positions
of the eye
The wing
has mutated
into a burger
Everything up
in the victory
as an age of Fall
One of the four
seasons the Romans
clashed into the chart
of seeing days
Circling with time
Second-tears drawn
around approximate
cites, an elixir
Helm of life
Crime, final crying
Heal me, let's
begin with a shattered
cup, rippling
fist crushing you
down into hotness
