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On the touch of poetry...
Will thou be in arrant disbelief if tell I what a mess am I not so today. Yet, I sit down to weave thee an epistle from my heart.
Will thou be unwillingly prepared to hark what I say. Ah! Will thee be lost in thy own mind, but will I be there for the catch just in time, but shatter must I now.
'Tis on a poem intense, poured from the fingertips may I die to touch.
Wrote she a missive to her oblivious lover, unaware of the cosmos her affection in his stars. What a sadness may you say whilst what a love will I utter.
So splashed the ridged lines on the pale brown skin of my fingers on the bamboo of her words, and could I only seek partial composure after I had read them for twice for two.
Went on she, with hurried fingers that waded slowly and slowly as must hath slipped her palms to the hem of the paper, only to know herself as not a "practised writer";
Composed she even further spilling all desire, violent and intense as sensed I deep in my veins whilst the eyes were shy for some unknown reason to be admired, only to acknowledge her recognition as akin to a silenter's.
Alas! what misery must clobber me right away to behold one's love too modest to let only let the sepia of leaves embody the divine taste that not a tongue, but the bod had for one. Alas! may I pray for Him to grant that love in heaven? Will I fall on my knees upfront a reliquary of the temple of my house.
Well, well, well.
So ran the propensity in me to taste it myself with thee.
You see, hath I been delighted in ways can I not expound, and to complement the rip-roaring mayhem of so much had I to feel within my chest and hands and shoulders and feet, there yonder ascended a burning sun in red cerise.
It reflected auburn hair of Achilles and sought fugitive behind the fringes of a coconut tree. 'Twas high, but were the nimbus and cumuli higher.
Stood I at the edge of reality and disbelief,
just as may I have you so.
Alack! Must thee understand am I not sly to hold thy heart hostage for a crime was that never yours - I am willing to save it from splitting into shards, let alone crave the red glaze on broken pieces of one's only glass.
Oh, holy lord! will I be a broken soul that shivers deep at night?
If so, then let her words scream 'DAY!' inside my ears and may You aid my hands to grope and find her terse tapestry close to my bed for will my feet cower in the dark.
Oh the Almighty in Heaven! Will I be as torn and shattered on the reef as was she to be rendered so unrequited by her lover?
If so, may Thee cite these words to me - ones hath I scribbled on my palm.
Hah! see how they refuse to spare my wrist as well! down they run. Down down down!
Hah! behold how they beautify the scars there as long as the ink paints my skin in blue from the tip of my fingers to the bottom of the nerves in a pale green hue.
If may still a menace haunt me regardless, implore I - remind me of the poem I read.
I will have my hair raised from my arms, through my nape, to the scalp of my head.
And that will tempt just enough, so do I believe.
© All Rights Reserved
Will thou be unwillingly prepared to hark what I say. Ah! Will thee be lost in thy own mind, but will I be there for the catch just in time, but shatter must I now.
'Tis on a poem intense, poured from the fingertips may I die to touch.
Wrote she a missive to her oblivious lover, unaware of the cosmos her affection in his stars. What a sadness may you say whilst what a love will I utter.
So splashed the ridged lines on the pale brown skin of my fingers on the bamboo of her words, and could I only seek partial composure after I had read them for twice for two.
Went on she, with hurried fingers that waded slowly and slowly as must hath slipped her palms to the hem of the paper, only to know herself as not a "practised writer";
Composed she even further spilling all desire, violent and intense as sensed I deep in my veins whilst the eyes were shy for some unknown reason to be admired, only to acknowledge her recognition as akin to a silenter's.
Alas! what misery must clobber me right away to behold one's love too modest to let only let the sepia of leaves embody the divine taste that not a tongue, but the bod had for one. Alas! may I pray for Him to grant that love in heaven? Will I fall on my knees upfront a reliquary of the temple of my house.
Well, well, well.
So ran the propensity in me to taste it myself with thee.
You see, hath I been delighted in ways can I not expound, and to complement the rip-roaring mayhem of so much had I to feel within my chest and hands and shoulders and feet, there yonder ascended a burning sun in red cerise.
It reflected auburn hair of Achilles and sought fugitive behind the fringes of a coconut tree. 'Twas high, but were the nimbus and cumuli higher.
Stood I at the edge of reality and disbelief,
just as may I have you so.
Alack! Must thee understand am I not sly to hold thy heart hostage for a crime was that never yours - I am willing to save it from splitting into shards, let alone crave the red glaze on broken pieces of one's only glass.
Oh, holy lord! will I be a broken soul that shivers deep at night?
If so, then let her words scream 'DAY!' inside my ears and may You aid my hands to grope and find her terse tapestry close to my bed for will my feet cower in the dark.
Oh the Almighty in Heaven! Will I be as torn and shattered on the reef as was she to be rendered so unrequited by her lover?
If so, may Thee cite these words to me - ones hath I scribbled on my palm.
Hah! see how they refuse to spare my wrist as well! down they run. Down down down!
Hah! behold how they beautify the scars there as long as the ink paints my skin in blue from the tip of my fingers to the bottom of the nerves in a pale green hue.
If may still a menace haunt me regardless, implore I - remind me of the poem I read.
I will have my hair raised from my arms, through my nape, to the scalp of my head.
And that will tempt just enough, so do I believe.
© All Rights Reserved
