The dips and turns that I take as silver trails of dust hits the hornet's brown nest, she leaves the essence of the night, like shivers on papercups or sugar on shoulder.

White iceberg tips just on the stagnant cosmic wheels cautionary 
of something fading into white flesh memories and upstream foams of 
walking to-forth 
such semblance of routine non-romance. 

"..."
" - "
"-thus-"

Mash-up.
Immortal rough.


Modern dinosaurs.
Lamb and sweepers of leaves.
White build. 


Lone peacock. 
Dots of red. Patient. They return home. 

Hit white.