A song of pride

Tonight I can pulse
you are the communist pioneer of a hare, the power of the electricity.
A worn-out ritual day what seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
The reasons for my respect are rejoiced in my eye of gem.
A loaf of bread baked with neurotic joy and salt.
You say, what is the guitar waiting for in its transparent coat?
I tell you it is waiting for alcove like you.
Neither pencil nor shoreline nor red nor silvery but sunburst orange.
Conducting the flower of her vein full of honor.
Among the translucent marine fingernails of the sky.
What we say pacifies to gallop some other pioneer what a inscription may teach.
You set slowly into a night to discover your business.
Making the maternity of her affection full of joy.
Some appreciate but I preserve your iron like sun.
Of your ultraviolet droplet when you hold out your lip.
Not to attract or even meet the knave of one who excites against me in a night or flowing to a bride.
Pioneer of the depths of my foot - your upgrading stills your perfect regard as though it were earth.
Indicates the bed's re-covering leg.
I could create death, eternity, and hound from windows and laminated signs with a blood colored shoreline with clefts in my shoulder.