To
braid a thought, where I saw you, to muffle emotions.
I’m
but crumbs, a partial corpse, filled with verve. You
welcome
rain, to blaze a trumpet, with life to perish.
I’m
penchant—to muse, to ruffle a nonchalant; and
there
for winds, a needle’s eye, for a woman wounded.
I
see you often, through different souls, quixotic over
life.
More to mourn, to steal from self—a chance to feel.
There’s
addiction, plus, harmony, a want for love; and
love
is born, a hydrant of love, plus, mixed emotions. I
raise
a glass, filled with pain, tempted for tomorrow; and
you
stir a soul, to mold a soul, an island of souls.
To
braid a thought, where I saw you, to muffle emotions.
I’m
but life, a set of wings, a kettle of passions. You
welcome
love, to shelter a key, with curse to flourish. I’m
wistful—to
lie, to puncture a parachute; so more for life,
to
kiss goodbye, a portrait painted in silence. I grieve a
taste,
a knee to carpet, to praise for comfort; but it’s more
to
mourn, to steal from self—a chance to feel.
