Spoke to an Elf

I felt through kindness, this exotic woman, as fragile that steel of love; where purple is fashion, our morning of errands, at home sipping glory. I knew for wild, adrift through twilights, freezing a rose; this cold despair, at layers with peace, at comforts for war; this mix of moods, a tad high near depression, as lavish as plush affairs. I totter more, at grave confessions, this daughter dying for sins; to have a feeling, as killing souls, to kiss elongated necks; this mischief of miles, falling into torments, this fabulous fantasy. I must for balance, to realize death, this yearly adventure; to braid a sphinx, as placed in baskets, to arrive a sore for affections. I crave us more, this thing of fools, where love isn’t up for auction: that patient nowhere, while love is breathing, to cross paths with ecstasy; that feeling of hearts, that noon-ish ritual, those bars carving sanity. I wrote a song, to perish lyrics, our hearts a year a second; as to pardon sensations, while gripping realities, at war to confess attractions: this well of days, as crazed as sanities, to ingest a bit of passion; where soon would die, while later would cringe, as to confess this never-land. I know for broken, piecing meals, while our freezers our dying from thirst: this casual pain, to morph electric, where a city is cast under spells; this inner wealth, acquired through sorrows, to bless a newborn seed: this powerful child, to cinch a family, while hells are brooding upon fires; this glacier style, forbidden from dying, while infusing a dream; where soldiers crave, while abiding to merits, this torture by death our rages. It had to see love, this feral baptism, while carved from slumber; where mothers dwell, as deeply above, peering at a list of whys. I know this name, to stumble conjecture, at tears to realize confusion; this beautiful agony, this gorgeous weed, our magnificent hell-cast; where love is rich, while nights are beige, as pale this tragedy; to dip a leaf, in golden liquids, sipping for frowning upon our destiny; that cry of wolves, as electric fuses, while we communicate through chi; this yearly adventure, to dance eternal, while our napes cringe allusions. I held a parrot, as to teach this name, while art fell for glory: this brackish woman, as seated in brains, this fusion of times our disasters.  I was so young, peering at futures, abrasive concerning love; this treasured sensation, this canvas of souls, this woman by time a confusion; where hell would live, as grieved through chimes, our days at breaths this measure; to see us in minutes, as attracted to pains, while neighbors died our aloofness; to fashion eternities, where love would blossom, as found in cultures our myth. I loved a falcon, this joyless feather, while love feigned happiness. We died our voices, while carrying our gods, to adventure through paths our mixtures: this tender soul, as borne to chaos, while such a lavish beauty. I took to silence, this vest of fear, where dynamics spoke to boldness: this furious man, as held that thigh, if but a dream this excursion. I hearted a star, to engrave this aim, where love walked a distant desert. It took for time, to evade this feeling, at love this art of dying.