Indeed,
it’s fare to say beauty, a tender payment. Beauty
speaks
a sublime language, where squirrels gather, and
geese
nibble. It’s a pick nick basket, swan glasses, and
Champagne.
We dote upon beauty, to hold for dear life,
to
praise unsung beauty. More for wu-wei, to
sing of
nature,
wrapped in burgundy eyes. It’s a subtle joy, ever
Frida’s
passion, a beautiful art. Fruits come to life…for
the
fare of beauty…a partial fare. Glass speaks to vision,
where
love is fluid, for golden bars of beauty. Skeletons
and
bones lay bare clad in kindness. I love you is mental,
a
form of prep school, a love chiseled by fate. Lust is
greed
for a love wrapped in sanity aware of nothing else.
We
walk through ponds, to reach for pebbles, to frighten
ducks.
I feel your imperfections, to out drink time, to
paint
what we never saw. Tidbits for love, to structure
essence,
for a long distance call; and there’s a unicorn far
into
a lake lapping water. I love you becomes nicotine—a
treasured
want, a dwelling in the forest.
