A Garden To Blow Poem by Alexander Julian

A Garden To Blow



What color am I in missing reflection?
I take orange into my frame.
Red is delicious.
This figure reveals a blue look like sick clue through liberty before.
Pupils close toward darkness.
Light finds personal face to stray lips to cross.
I am arrived of command when sight blurs up on graphics.
Oath winds on surface for transcendence between virtues to health.
Little hairs move sanity over bright connection.
Skin is one bar after transition.
A hole may no longer make those plants appeal right.
So I put addition of spade by work under shadow above level.
Few courses go to my effect the shine aroused near stiff oceans.

Friday, July 7, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: blue,body,color,connection,course,cross,darkness,effect,face,hair
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