White lilies in May faded to grey now,
Initiated treaties among a fray in the shadows,
All that's left embraced of the pure textured fumes is pale.
A lonely parchment reading vast memories and
Lore, intricately encased once demure expressions felt frail;
Only crunchy remnants
In an hourglass vase by the door.
Looking glass perceptions:
From the outside looking in,
Twirling round in a chrysanthemum bed.
This infestation is a shot of Novocaine,
Like braille on fingertips;  
Manifesting an understanding,
From the heart through the lips.
Tuscan breeze passing along, caressing my knees,
Stinging softly like cotton-stitched-pillow bees
Cascading down my wrists.
Brisk taste of freedom.
Attraction comes back round like
A bracelet of Saturn.