Cool in the morning, touching, and the reach takes love to face. It is to bring a cool rain thus, the sun and flowers till soon, love, this is quick. You are the cornfield sprung from nothing more than soil went the morning corn into sky. Leaping trees join blue sky finally. This love is caring in the face, and touch of night when we sleep and sleep. Rhythm makes the sky and all its clouds and clearing. Rain is wonderful, sun is meaningful, day and night combine. Now the summer solstice expands, a point we have made and this is touching. Lightly the bed is made for our time. The things we create clear with music. Our love is a definite day.
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
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