Caught in feelings the dregs an area for pain; Love is for reason the aim is eternity, drowned out, making miracle roses.
I was fantasizing of trenches, dead comrades, a soft palm caressing my ego; everything you are, every meaning, to have died tragically; and sour milk, forced to guzzle, curdled and all.
What was it, Commonsense, to lose arrangement, power, dynasty, and passion.
The drizzling—looking on behavior, afraid some are too brave; affliction like a kiss, something incredible, to enter, treasuring Love more than self; indeed, a shift, to fathom amnesty, so destined, such is Love, and Commonsense remained cushion.
