Guitar

I'm leaving the sound
Escaping the round
Of looping my memories' run

And shades of my face
Ever bound to seek grace
And the hole in my head's on a lace

Cough breaks
Voice aches
Can't scream, my whispers in pain

But-I
love;
To-night's
Dove;
It is bound to deliver the saint
And mortal grace

Picturesque, content and vigil,
Bearing sigil
Of her inner lion at her mouth's gate.

Loving more of dusty morning
Than I ever did her groin.
Wonder still on why she is irate.

Running down a slippy spiral;
Tempo vivo going viral;
Mind is gold and loud, words are in the shade.

Fix me, so I wouldn't lose.
Fix my brain so I would crave
For blessings that my mother chooses.

Hurt's not me, for giving up
Is same as letting sand and dust
Slip languidly through slender arms.

Fix me, since these poems do
Appear of lines without a rhyme.
Fix me so I knew who I am writing too.

Eloquent, being lost
On lanes familiar with the dust.
I can not spot
The flower shops i fostered in the past.

Except the rooms of stained glass
I narrow eyes to see
How time will doom the camomile
How ruthless life can be.

But I will kneel
Reciprocate the corpse of once a growing stalk.
For it's the only way.
For we must talk
Before it's time to leave.

She's a fragrance
Bottled in my mind's
Peripheral scribes.
My tutorial on how to stand

And my spine is giraffe's neck or,
Fixed-be-not, the Pisa Tower.
And I'm bound to be lower
But she hits my back and stirs me forth.

Liquid paper, solid gold
She's a gas of dizziness,
Though a simpler boy
You could never find on earth.

She's a quarrel in a body,
Younger muse for my hoorah.
Like the Russians say,
Blood and milk. However, in the case,
Porridge and strong coffee.
My perfected
Oh, my tailored
Healthy diet for the mind state.