Beginning to get the picture.  Your flash is on the surface.

You taste of star anise ‘launching’ the latest OS in fertility: you wiggle like the borzoi
w/ backsliding wipe-outs & their aftermath: 
trash-flashes we tautologize into cattle calls of glugging purity. 
At least our calls’re in the area… 
‘holding each other open’ ordaining our interpretive devices to 
moan to the surface. 

There may be many areas, too.