For do we live to lust and breathe.
To bathe in flowers and not deceive.
To breathe is life and sun is fine.
Thine heart and soul enwrapped in mine.

My mind is fed in reams of red.
A fervent blaze of pure maroon.
From a spoon made out of silver.
Silver flashing in the light of the moon.
For life is over much too soon.

Three score years and ten.
Then who knows what and who knows when.
(C) LIVVI