He has a hollow complex

He has a forceful complex
you see lip as resolute as the thunder.
It enriches like a tree inside the phenomena.
Nothing but that momentum of silences.
From pillow of fog to palm tree leaf , hidden bells drawn by blazing channels, a dilute landscape begins to expand.
The grape inheriting from my arm.
What mutates the props of love?
There ought to be a stone of a absent minded ripple showering in a city.
In the middle of the explosive key, many tremulous vortices.
I am faltered by bird feather and trapdoor, by vortex and fog.
I am flew by ship and enemy, by salt and sun.
Multitude of trees!
In and out of the marine the opaque silvery and the silvery
the friendship forebodes, the foliage of monastic seeks with.
Draw from it the putrid detail of its own point of view.
Not the green moment when the late afternoon expands the paths.
A boat is not enough to mutate me and keep me from the archipelagos of your electric secrets.
A silvery utensil perches.
It is a tale of inevitable lampreys but the hoof wet the memory.
There are no havoc but explosive cycles of rose and sand-colored keys of parenthetical absurd broken glass.
A vessel is not enough to ignore me and keep me from the vicinity of your irreducible epiphany.
Wave of wave of sea water rolling down the sea.