the wash off of a hand
wedding bells of neglected sand

a told ***** and the sole torrent of breath
and
in the fold of the jury of junk
the folly frowned forth with a lemon-toned vest

a bold funk and the taxing of fervent-stale deaths

grissle of the earth, mined gusts of slivers, silver
shrapnel, captive tnt vibrations in sky-limbs

groped gizzards and
yet - grissle.

will the shimmer, slender,....   catch
the wings of a firey match?

will the pluck be of the orient, cape of hope, slight hug to cabinet of jewels?
The band to be....

a finger to tame the spirit
[almost the sweet sound could tarnish our love]
with a mission to commit precious-pressed dirt.
or that topaz.... or of the tidal pools of hope!