If density shows eyesight mirroring spongy bodies hiding in soul without no verb
one should wonder where the fingers around the vocals should leave or sieve herb
or disappear
Signing tiny whines of automatic soft design we are the melting machine gathering
in word what breath would hiss hush should bacteria tree fish tell from smothering
the varied beginning
Now no snow is hiding all burns in swim skin high towards the flame world without
end stumbling to the final whimper of an unannounced touch of brim skin and shout
