Thursday, October 15, 2015

Timewise

There’s a blizzard, staring at beauty, a wandlike affect.
She’s fanwise, with purple eyes, an arcane surprise.
I’m argent force, somewhat aswoon, an arrant fawn.
We travel azure, a pure essence, fraught with guile.
“But he’s a bard, shrouded in mishaps, a fusion of
ills.” I bite the sorrow, and wax with tears, to feel it
trickle: “I’m a torn creature, a capstone artist, ever
to a floor.” Her dress is chic, a claret wine, an angel’s
coquette. It’s ever a dint, to surface love, courting
for wildness. It’s dotage love, to finally claim, a tour
for hardness. I vanished, composing yearly, to feel for
shawls. It’s such for heart-mares, an earnest love, as
full as empty. Such is graceful, to witness visions,
to ponder a gracile force. There came a night, a
thought to grog, staring at beauty. We laughed a tear,
to furnish pash, in arms for love. We wanted less,
something confined, to push passed death. Oh for trying,
and feigning time, to nurture love.     

Time Chiseled a Vision

Oh to love you, to hear your name, whispered deafly. We
cry to see, a tab bit livid, found in lies. I vast a feeling,
charged dearly, a scoop of dreams. We speak for truth, ever
for closer, from henna to Indian ink. It’s more for love,
draped in panic, for breathing hard. Was it toil, to till
a culture, a deep bit tainted? I wail an ache, as pristine as
gray, a heartbeat torn. How for stars, our very pulse, to
welter love. I blink your eyes, to feed your soul, long
beyond time. We fever love, for nary a mind, to love our
woes. It’s ever for closer, a kitchen of dishes, a seat left
up. Oh for fire, raging in love, a phrenic reply. I turn for
passion, to kiss for patience, to gender a smile. We paint
houses, with diamond steps, swooshing through rivers. I
wait your heart, a swamic soul, a wandlike affect. So
fetching, a grand appeal, to reason through hells. It’s
fuchsia wells, telic dreams, a vault of teal-blue skies. I’m
often tacit, to wrestle a banshee, panting near a pond; for
we love, loaded with fey, a sunlit crave. So ours immortal,
a rustic legend, stippled in concrete.    

PS.

    The strength to withstand the winds; a spell as it effects/affects some creature. A sudden moment filled with absolute certainty, so wro...