from over here
i'm not sure what to say
can you read me?
can you read me now?
shall i embark on a quest of cliches?
shall i compare thee to a summer's lay....
nay
thou art a trove more evanescent
it isn't a lesson i contain
or a fountain to pertain
my rhyming speech is but a way to sway my fears away
--avoidance and presumptuous credence--
for another fake, fake, fake assailing parallel of waning candlelight i've never blinked at in inebriated chores
(the pride is seamless in the play of work)
embarrassed trifles witnessed here, and here, too.
i cannot see far or near. the session isn't claimed by fear, only dear, dear, yearning