Delicata intuition

wine stop, all around you a garden shop based in calligraphy, a long expansion, an endless sea, turned toward one flaming shot of love, telling everyone who has touched your anatomy, down this spine comes wheels and gears of stand-alone receptive telegraphing pulse and lather, if the scrub has tumbled over some illusion we were hoarding our delicious delicata, superseding every wonderful endearment on a pinhead written punctually before midnight grinds your intuition up inside a mortar, heaven help those comic geysers with each personal attack, open up the burlap, feed into correspondence although she never wrote a letter to your muse, attention deficit on borderline established town and country produce fortune obligatory mercy, national guitar and laps to sit in when your child defends his splitting personality, i know your song belongs to me and will you sing it, will your wings beneath our arching storm be spread as non-aggression born of pleading amber, tents set up along the river, campfire stones protecting pine needle forest floor from setting off, tree as witness, perfect estuary hamper laughing geode natural coin, police you plates which state are you in, where those rivers run, take the squash and beans to plant out on plain.