i

Sitting on the star's, looking down below
Waiting for an eternal exquisite, to subdue mine woe's;
Going to the country, sensually, we shalt elope
This is a story, of two in romanticism's row.

ii

In the softened aisle, carried by first class limousine
She powder's on her blush and makeup, a surreal thing;
And whilst walking down the plaza, in the mezzanine
She calleth me her handsome king, I whisper back queen.

iii

And tis she'll be mine queen, I'll be her reality
We'll maketh a dream cometh true, in all factuality;
None more restless night's, amour cometh by day
A garden with a palisade, all fruit's godly made...



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry