Informal Maturation

However many homonyms cross their heart and hope, bounding a handful of prime numbers in their prime. Mudras in daylight fill each of my side pockets, while repartee smooths into the ear canal, 

slide ruling history with a fragment of pomp. Privacy becomes my primary gift to you, however many homonyms cross their heart and hope, from which possessions need to be released. Mudras in daylight fill each of my side pockets, as thought capsizes some of the indifference. 

When I feel out of bounds I further extend privacy my primary gift to you, a gift hidden away in the sleeves of the home, from which possessions need to be released. The moon becomes a parable, fraught with rear view mirrors I keep polished. When I feel out of bounds I further extend a tender offer severing informal chat, a gift hidden away in the sleeves of the home. Impromptu variations eclipse the theme.

Errors of fact are thought to prompt music fraught with rear view mirrors I keep polished. Fractions destined to build a little history. A tender offer severs informal chat, a child's game played on the painted circle on the floor.

Subtraction enlists the lust for privacy. Errors of fact are thought to prompt music. We called our home the woods and each year waited for fall, fractions destined to build a little history. Chance operations meant the leaves would be raked and burned.

The yoga breathing teacher delights in lion's breath. Subtraction enlists the lust for privacy. I still feel the football band's bass drum tone in my stomach at night. We called our home the woods and each year waited for fall, time to free the grass blades clean of dust.

How I live now is to sip the freshness from the dark. The yoga breathing teacher delights in lion's breath

How silent the night birds how quiescent thought conversation. I still feel the football band's bass drum tone in my stomach at night. You could smell leaves burning all the way to the football games.

Extrasensory memory eclipses forethought dream. How I live now is to sip freshness from the dark

One does not prepare for sleep but allows it to arrive. How silent the night birds how quiescent thought conversation. Long nights stretch across a facsimile of witness protection.

Whispering is not speaking truth to power. Extrasensory memory eclipses forethought dream. How silent the night birds how quiescent thought conversation. One does not prepare for sleep but allows it to arrive. I think I helpmeet mostly along the curved position of sleep

Chapters averse to completing the story. Whispering is not speaking truth to power, a gift hidden away in the sleeves of the home. How silent the night birds how quiescent thought conversation, fraught with rear view mirrors I keep polishing.

Whose precious spine feeds my mind the comfort of skies. Chapters averse to completing the story.

I lambent limn my thin lifetime, a gift hidden away in the sleeves of the home. Storytelling sleeves into common parlance.

I lived my early life beneath oak trees whose acorns popped in the fire, whose precious spine feeds my mind the comfort of skies high above the dross of clouded earth. I lambent limn my thin lifetime.

Night birds aspirate trellises of wind 

Whose precious spine feeds my mind the comfort of skies. I lived my early life beneath oak trees whose acorns popped in the fire. I think I helpmeet mostly the curved position of sleep. I lambent limn my thin lifetime. However many homonyms cross their heart and hope, mudras in daylight fill each of my side pockets.