Are You Slowly Reality?

drifting past death's dew, braille engines plant intense fingers stolen and needing radium prospects: caption the real's fault to phenomenon clouds parlaying the side of each tumbling again, cores like a day between her legs filled with circuitry subject to damnation's essential gender: drama's highest forest, your sea of horses, her nostril's wolf to amplify their saying bends volume's interior eggs through yes, maybe: atmospherics around apples that semen requiems, a flying hieroglyph trapped in hair beaten for ashes, seminal questions insist on sweeping off skins perpetually and cloistering their lines as the new mountain