Weeping lights from Cassiopeia's Core. at this Wedding, lakes dry up, while grapes martyred with holes, Leak their Whispers. "On guard!" someone in Wrinkled cotton Abrupts. ...Had this person seen fit a Stroll Amid perfumed road grit, He'd rub his hands and Tongue the grapes. Clouds in their night life Tonight make a Nucleus of the moon - No shame. Implicating stitches of Invisible-ink-rapid-eye-movements, He's Wed the frail Acoustics (still leaking) by arch by vale by pulse by press by teetering entente. This ornate, montage engagement takes place Over impossible canvas. He thinks: "next time i'll disturb this road's perfume."