Its
nectar rich, to spin a carousel, for fallen angels. We love through seasons,
charmed by a bracelet, to snap on an anklet. We fuse a heart, to gather Quaker
Ladies, to seal a queen’s cup. There’s a mystic lily, to cycle through lows, a
tulip of highs. I consider such rain, for turquoise arts, to consecrate ink. We
lavish a tear, where demons scream, to taint a quince’s texture. I probe a
castle, to highlight calves, a feather to an ankle. There’s a garden of pansies,
to feature through cinemas, a flash of our lives. Its passion pangs, to drain a
soul, jarring a huntsman. We paint for peace, the finest china, a vase of
mimosas. We comb eyebrows, to braid mane, to bathe a diamond. We walk—a
portrait—our right, flowing through colors. Ever a Persian Buttercup, flitting
to fly, to spark a core. Its Peruvian Silk, for violet roses, sheltered for
romance. We die this life, to structure through madness, a refuge for love.
It’s a cup of tears, even a handkerchief, to nurture a grove. I thought of
love, for plunging eyes, for pouty lips. We sight for rainbows, a tad bit
sullen, to share affliction. Life is poinsettias, ever a rock rose, to pencil
for paints. We swim to safety, to hush a hurricane, for touched by love. Its
popcorn night, a cozy couch, a family of doves. We beat for hearts, a soul of
quartz, flooded through Mars. Love is Neptune, to cuddle for comfort, to plan
for birth. I see for oceans, to travel by sea, to visit Islands. We often
laugh, through mere a gesture, puzzled by love. There’re mystic tints, for
yogic depth, to tillage a fortress. We climb clouds, peeking at cultures, to
witness this feeling; where flutes whistle, to flood a heart-lute, where we
chisel through sadness.
