In the venerable shrine between her heart, wherein her arm's doth rest, I gesture, yet hesitate to be in this unknown amour's chest, wherein I shalt get the best of grand opening; I hesitate if there shalt be one to ever want me again, afraid I sayeth, afraid if one shalt leaveth me, crusheth me, and bruise mine already purest of brawn. I await the new dawn, passionately induced, I striveth to be from one, like the heat of a gun, I dieth to be touched, a touch of flush to mine reddened flow. A star show of the circus stage to be ourn quiet deja vu: we shalt be the act's of bonjour as we shalt layeth in the grass of the eiffel tower, like wild flowers breathing in the earth.......



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry