The prime I’m in (cold file) grinds down the onslaught of the surf. Wet hands coerce her tidal politic: a love-sick shire of common knots, revolting, wretch assured.
Unleash the phantoms of the wistful world at bay from that optimal day when climbed I up the risers, capped to fortune, palme-d'essence, mindful hitch. You stitched the barrier between your absence and my glitch - upheld the cases made for fiery rhythms of romance, as echoes clattered in the apse of quiet towns’ pastoral grasp.
I’m sitting shameless in the offing of a while. Unseated: will my offspring smile at sunny landings on the peaceful shores of joy? Can such be relished by a boy? Or will his chains hold strong and anchor back to relapsed wrong? Can such be relished by a song and her soprano? played piano for the crowd, but filling one’s forever, wonder-loud?