So
amazing, and so fleeting, to paint a portrait; and such a
kiss,
an inner voiceprint, to whisper, “Evermore”; and ever
we
wrestle, for such a moment, jarring fireflies.
To
buy a gift, flushed with forethought, to rapture a soul.
We
purchase symbols, for gemstone affections, to search
for
spellbound. He feels a scent, to unlock for soul, fixed in
urges.
She’s
afloat, wrapped in stars, and ever a dream. This is
motion,
to rum a heartstring, fastened in love. Its height and
width,
to hug a soul, founded on affection. So ever a touch,
to
irrigate life, to unlatch a dream-spear.
Love
is winsome, ever a phantom, as concrete as a kiss. We
nestle—in
heartfelt words, forging poetry; and it’s ever for
eyes,
as sincere as puppies, a cosmic tempo. It’s ever erotic,
purging
fears, even a heart-quake.
“Touch
my soul,” she says; and he reaches within. His words
rhythmic,
to follow a meter, speaking of love. Such affection,
a
womb of warmth, a tender leaf.
She
swims in kef, teary with intoxication, sipping Champagne.
They
picture for norms, a bit extraordinary, to capture fair
beauty.
So ever a wrench, to tug for bolts, to tighten love; and
more
a dream, to live it through, and overtaken.
