I recall and can I recount it just as well right now.
Does my mind anticipate the same from you. Am I a child to ask you so still, but may I know if 'tis right an appraisal of so many of these sparks I embody here as I exist. Will thee tell me? If so, lie will thee not for will I not hath me heart this time.
I recall and can I recount just as well as juxtapose my feet your shoes - their laces are perhaps, unaware of how quietly they touch the skin of my ankles that my stilletos hath left bereft of a shelter of necessary protection. They touch a little more as to reach my toenails on the concrete so dead of life, yet on it is incited such strife for the spark that emanates through me.
Oh yes dear! divine is the touch of just a lace does that stir a string of knots inside one.
Does it create buds for a million like them, yet leaves every tie undone for else's hands.
Can I, in no way that my comatose consciousness may be acquainted with, not aid admitting that some ecstacy is it.
A spectacle that I behold testifies it thus. Wonder I if you can descry it too.
Look, oh look yonder! there my dear fell a star sidereal to us. Did you see that?
'Tis a sight my eyes demand for a lifetime - may thou see it right here amidst my words -
Cerise and azure concocting an admixture of pale hues of rather darker shades somewhere on the line of horizon, and there's a smear of a violet paint on the sky above; is there a smell of meadowsweet and yarrows in my ambience. Is a florist just passing by or did he...