The double-edged truth
had the exoticism. The blood was
in air. A blue bird draws
a red line, indulging in spiritualization
of a gray design. The testosterones
chart the trajectory in the flame
of the forest.
You deploy your army in zero
hour. Colored leaves start casting
the spell. You listen to the rustling
of skirt. Moon was walking in.
A pink sword and sharpened
claws. After the vulture hit,
the death will swoop down on you suddenly.
