Pretend pretend-pine at a ponytail
And feel this kicking heart
Stronger than the last
Stranger to sit in view of class.
Ah! Comfort in obscurity
Nestled in the corner, darked
but to glass and passing time.
In there, my head, the songs begin
Of lips of Siren, no fear of wrong
I’ll stay righted to and from
Capreae, and meet the mind and face
Of elegance not reflected in the water.
If this lens be infinite
The aethers usher out a sigh
Second only in my own.
But cursed coldness and mock clairvoyance
Had lit a blonde in my vanity
And cast out front in my vicinity—
Oh! Woe to shrugs of dependency!—
Somewhere blown leaves turn to seedlings
As to this aspect I am kneeling,
Fair fall will turn to spring.
Lashes emerge from one fair ear
Casting her gaze, perhaps back here—
A cough and noise what could it be
What disturbance is at of me?
Oh, now I feel the dreaded “L”
Whatever that could mean
Which only its binate twin could quell—
Two gentle abysses pass in their cursory
And all conflagrated, two passions at ends!
Now begins the heavy labor of siding
In both and achieving neither.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
Pretend pretend-pine at a ponytail
And feel this kicking heart
Stronger than the last
Stranger to sit in view of class.
Ah! Comfort in obscurity
Nestled in the corner, darked
but to glass and passing time.
In there, my head, the songs begin
Of lips of Siren, no fear of wrong
I’ll stay righted to and from
Capreae, and meet the mind and face
Of elegance not reflected in the water.
If this lens be infinite
The aethers usher out a sigh
Second only in my own.
But cursed coldness and mock clairvoyance
Had lit a blonde in my vanity
And cast out front in my vicinity—
Oh! Woe to shrugs of dependency!—
Somewhere blown leaves turn to seedlings
As to this aspect I am kneeling,
Fair fall will turn to spring.
Lashes emerge from one fair ear
Casting her gaze, perhaps back here—
A cough and noise what could it be
What disturbance is at of me?
Oh, now I feel the dreaded “L”
Whatever that could mean
Which only its binate twin could quell—
Two gentle abysses pass in their cursory
And all conflagrated, two passions at ends!
Now begins the heavy labor of siding
In both and achieving neither.