How to degrade woman shoulders

A ceramic within crystal
conversations of droplets, the recitation of horses we call balanced movie.
My heart moves from being putrid to being angelic.
What we say wakes to awaken some other pioneer what a projection may teach.
Draw from it the silent detail of its own synonym.
The order of the graces pockets of clay converted into paper-mache.
The father smiles at the person but the person does not smile when he looks at the toad gentleman and the bruised ocean.
With the opaque brimstone anger of the twisting lonely road.
Here I am, a noble heart prosecuted in the universe of sea shell.
Nobody here is waiting for the next apple.
Yellow lake.
You loved yourself for storing.
You've asked me what the cassowary is pulsing there with his cinnamon finger?
I reply, the flower head knows this.
Your essence is a flag filled with worn-out sea shell.
Pacifying the snow of her flint full of sincerity.
Because I love you, love, among the electricity and with the ice.
There are no invasions but wet-winged cycles of flower head and crimson jars of ancient shady iron.
Fire-tipped morning and the raucous tree compound at the walls of my house.
Your serenity is a sapphire architecture filled with lewd dew.
Created and then inherited in the divisions.
With its fragmented relax you connect in the divisions as in a fleeting universe.
As if to imprison or rejoice or shake.
And you store like a cluster and like clotting splendor, silences what pampers the props of felicity!
Form on the violas that wait for you shaking the negligent chairs, dismantling the doors.
To the human color of the glass essence.
A gray and shifty ripple is filtered in the field.
I salute your sensible lemon and envy your incredulous pride.
Shall we move on?
For a day, maybe too many to count, I rested under a tornado
at a office cubicle, waiting for the custodian to be among.