Bow down to the structure of grammar. Shrink your tongue so that it only worm-tipped the elusive fish with their significant shiny scales. Flat island. They flee there by escaping. All its forms. South dressed. Replicas of clothes like volcanoes. Replicas of the wish. Replicas of love. Replicas of agitated skin, always waiting for enjoyment, restless and floating, alive, thrown into the mountain of silence.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.