Peering off the albino wrap-a-round step's
When tis only us and noone is left,
I'll let her develop me until I mold into her tresse
As she swayeth her dress, mine arm's wilt go weak.

I won't be able to speak, as she bundle's me to her package
Mine toes shalt curl, as mine body she'll ravage.
In arcahic mode, she's fixed in mine passion
As we shalt dissapear in upward direction, vast confirmation.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Elsa angelica dedication..