From Amnios

Base of the Fortunate

I was going based on arousal. That sounds like berserk oceans understood this solitary camp. The logic that excerpts passion’s floating book is at the bottom. Here, the elevator somehow perishing from wisdom’s fish. Yet we are falling inside it. The caves and woods of a doubt, lost before the move of spring’s eccentric tensions. To always be unholy, how your ash could wish to be these lovers. Lonely, going the way of the encounter. Other, our loneliness is just the creator of each sweet virtue, to say this sweetness is the love of doubt and lovers as only lovers become.

The flame will be a wish, the seven creations who love, whose earth suffered wholly, in want of doing good. Then please to speak and stammer, ye tribe of wild dogs and lovely angels. Then please to virtue be exalted over earths and paradise.

Once you had birds and poisons. Once you had sweet battle; war and the sacred paramour. You will pass over lost places and the pollen of their nocturnal intimations. Over the bridle of trust and betrayal, over the whole spirit who may become your herald, surrounded by herself, something overcome, henceforth the fortunes of that sweet tribe from whose fight our love no longer emerges. From whose flights the reason of all persons no longer emerges.