You Thieves, My Foes
Still are thunder play.
Flood[s] cheat[ing] not fools.
Skies. answer[s]. your[s]. beautiful[ly].
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Oh, what crime? Twas this;
upon your loneliness you spake,
of how your heart needs gauze miss
and your soul calls like a chough’s quake.
No ample dispatch
has ever jolted you to the core.
Only the nitty-gritty mismatch
inside your first floor.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:33 AM UTC
