It’s
ever for love, to witness love, reaping for love. I’m
tore
for love, sorting through bibelots, dauntless for love.
Indeed,
a slant for love, to fear for love, a gravid love. Have
we
loved—ever torn, staring for esoteric? I was silent, to
rapture
love, indelible love, where love soon departs. It’s
more
an art, even a gift, to raffle soul. I jest; more for
love;
and more for fey. Such nectar, a shipwrecked love,
an
island love. There we are, speaking love, to sweven
love.
I speak of visions, to wist for love, a prithee love.
Have
we heard—a silent wave, cheering for love? It’s
breakfast,
love—to part a Snickers, for sipping coffee. We
cried
for love, aright for love, banished to love. It’s ever
a
temper, a steaming love, a sanctum love. Tell for rivers,
a
keepsake love, scratching love. I tell it softly, to feel for
safety,
a radiant love. Has it been—a vocal wave, a fairytale
love?
I ask, to venture, a linchpin love. Indeed, mind is
love,
a fastened love; but less for love, a skeptic love,
sailing
through harms.
