upon an orchid, by
a rosy face, years have spent us. so purple, made orange, brown eyes are
dominant.
it took time to
speak again. it took time to have certain cadence. with terror staring at us.
lilac passion,
sheets moistened, dire concern, if it would be us.
often, rust
settles in, at pipes, in rustic areas; made astute in us, neither rust nor
rustic, neither cares nor concerns, filled with penchants, made most diligent.
a bundle of
pearls, metaphysic cries, if to soak into a dahlia; so far, feigning nearness,
some kiss, it never appeared.
aging softly, keen
as wolves, wrung dry, made water again.
comfort for souls.
pain for desires. keys to rooftops, meant for a casual few.
upon a leaf, hard
to find us, reality seems like feelings; flying by an emotion, regathered
fretting silliness, or close enough to smile.
by graces, afore
gates, underbrush through winds; to winnow a heart, to ask for eternity,
whispering, “It must be fire.”
bells alarm us,
generosity alarms us, truth seems to chide, plus, appease us.
