Languishing, diaphoresis immerses me, into fatal search
Hoping for a grand entrance, of a companion in mine worst;
A devotee to mine whole being, not just to mine poetic Verse
A chapel to sayeth mine deepest confession's to her, purity given.

Swaddler to mine racing pulse, I'm going into convulsion
Mine limb's tied off, the clot is forming, I'm aching for touch;
I'm dying slowly, I feeleth none there, I'm just a freak, though who shalt let me enter, into her kingdom, of dry eyes to meet?



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry