Put a candle under
the rose bush...

O pathfinder,
you wanted to leave unsung...

You had left me reeling
under the bluebells...

It was not the worth
of a cloud...

How would you describe
the stampede, when there was...

You tell me in no
ambiguity to hold on the solitude...

Another woman
sits on rose hips...

I like to rage on with
flying snakes. The fog deepens...

He has been spoken off.
Sometimes I feel...

Awakened
at the partition...

Cupping the water in hand,
you feel the nativity...

The cult moves in
circle. Stargazing...