Paragon 567By Martin Hanley Copyright ©Martin Hanley 1/30/2014

Cortisol seen is best infused and focused with stimulated air by an Oxytocin mist. As Frey-tag falling up at me no longer allows the prey or pleasure to be derived inside. Wildly engaging deficits that smiling players mock leave us in a Sephardic tryst. And black moon transporting Titans trace ever lengthening spaces across a poisoned chalice.

Creatures social functioning within creased corners allow dark dialogues to lie low. They succumb without a fight in a would be folly where successful connections surround. Gathering like hops she carries him away to a place where he will soon complete. Promising a fountain spiral stairs echoes of others still drowning beneath an azure sky.

The gate left un-hung in days gone by leads him towards the saline waters and her tear tree. Judged breaking and entering the spacious void screams back at him as dancers spin wildly. Soon peeling papers reflect images lost and soon found where emptiness still reigns blindly. Caught beneath the undertow the seven sisters fill siphons and claim a Pyrrhic victory.

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