Aug 2017
“For this I am willing;
to bet against the well.”
There were forenights after,
When I’d again see flutters;
brims and flashes in fluster:
Daymares in excessive tenors.
In an augmented thought; the lights
rearranged and jumped off spectrum;
and the unbowed remnants, with plights
to infer; to escape such fair conundrum:
“If one would take upon oneself an ascension;
laid upon a fountain of ire?”
As if to live unheathered,
Complacent and unafraid;
and how would one have it missed?
Such comely pair untinted.
“And here I write, to make believe.”
to bet against the well.”
There were forenights after,
When I’d again see flutters;
brims and flashes in fluster:
Daymares in excessive tenors.
In an augmented thought; the lights
rearranged and jumped off spectrum;
and the unbowed remnants, with plights
to infer; to escape such fair conundrum:
“If one would take upon oneself an ascension;
laid upon a fountain of ire?”
As if to live unheathered,
Complacent and unafraid;
and how would one have it missed?
Such comely pair untinted.
“And here I write, to make believe.”
Infatuation probably? I really hope not.
