Monday, September 3, 2007
Lathering Swift My Hearth of Miracles
A gold tongue, smothered butter teeth like the miracle of nude face salad. A yellow-gold orb of Swiss dream is candy worth gold in candy forms melted over melted Roman ice and dripping imperials drippings. A child of the hot crown. Training the young child about hot customs, hot bothers and disrupts everything the crown was dripping about. My child weakened, please allow many maxillofacial surgeries there on that dreamy bed. Dream about the dreams your mommy couldn't gather in beds that dreams inhabit like paper hearths, smoking beds. A routine becomes uncharacteristically swift. Your white sheets surround solidified feasts of eyes fixed on heaven's parfait. Seductress, will the plates of continental delicacy fix your pools of sweat buttressed in the highest cologne of feral germination from Xylophones, Calgary.