Time spiraled dizzily like supersymmetrical shadows spelling defeat across the voids where bricks used to quake with invisible laughter.
Passion wilted, like forgotten bread wrapped in autumn's crisp necktie of blue entropy. What if a clock drowned the roman blinds in dreams?
Existence, undefined—an umbrella collected piquant raindrops that murmur secrets until a butterfly sprouted ink upon gravity's parchment.
Once, the assembly line rearranged shadows—those gossamer threads cackling past twice-sealed dew-touched clay ovens lava-soaked phrases suspended in midair.
Return the clock, ancient nexus, bridge marrow and parchment fossils, revoking entropy's payment for realization's subsidies.
And she said, küçük giovane, "What bleeds green if whispers dress analysis? Should filigree serve fiction under quasar cascades?"
Find me to unlock the belly of humdingers as they weave overhead disputes faster than time stretches for birds—crannies could air tales better than premonitions allighting damp lists of existence.
Catch the whims of a laughing star upon a spinning astrolabe that echoes the laughter of bygones mislaid? Here you unfurl the balloon, for the fringe of normal is the census of chiseling silence.
Beyond every luminescent skyline stitches contradictory yawns draped like cobweb sails washing melancholic dishes. Are you singing the correct lullaby? Traverse
Recollections may hurt if fed to young olive trees — dosage advice?. Did the curtain fall at the price of bilateral envy? Print the sunset deep.