our knot come home


So Doctor Deleuze has it on the spin, and the adhesive and the reckoning roll of her hardrockening buttocks, nor the sand of her ribbed  vacuum the vane of delight    ~  Over this intensity and rainbow spoken lover, unspoken thought of her charming dot. Not foresought nor forsworn but pleasure by every greed and tempering. She rose to the plateau of its microthought silly to her naval tongue  ~ .

Yer not every other thing   ~ indeed O song of knight. Composing your ring, clomping over lower case letters and lover. Indeed of bow and sprint spring and other lovers. Their double faced bodies and some. Handsome hamadryad of the deteriorating deterritories ~ and the stories of fetlocks and their naves, rotten dying o f her their own disease as the shuttering mockery continues. AS the prayer. 

You're not every other thing either    ~. 

You're not between each thing   ~but you are each thing, the rose, stone, pebble, groan,                                               her check, the family allowance and memory's peacocked frame. However, howsomever only one and two are true .As the plumb line varies 

Cadence to its knocking back flood. She wears minny skirts to low brow conferencing calls... waking the flutes of thing as she   ~ .


                            And opening your oboe every  pose remaining   ~.