We
perish love, and foster love, tipsy with love. Its grand
for
love, to flip for love, a fitful love. I watch for love, the
fairest
love, to stumble love.
Such
maple eyes, and myrtle ears, to polish oaken woes. It’s
abstract
love, to channel for chi, to grapple for love; and
more
to fly, scraping stars, fallin’ to fuchsia arms.
I
saw for image, the bane of love, to love for love; and such
for
death, a gothic bent, and blackened love. Oh for rapt, to
tangle
love, and scorn for love.
We
mingle greyly, the web of art, to witness affairs; and oh
for
pain, to dote for chains, to spin an aria. I love it torn, for
more
alive, a bit for jaded.
Indeed
a love, the river’s love, to cross with open arms. We
perish
love, the quickest love, gripping to rainstorms. I saw
it
grieve, a treble beat, an artist dying.
