A blow
dish a blow
in its pace,
colors.
Marry the horizon.
Right a curve,
navigation.
So immense in a soul
see and pray- repeat.

A blow
dish a blow
In marriage
dont they love-
Roses,
tiny forms
of sable petals
flying through the wind.

A blow
dish a blow.
All aching
no longer
cones of Carnival.
Retracted,
cake crowns.
Those veils
they part solemnly.

A blow
dish a blow.
Paces,
they amble on
tracing the incalculable.
Love, the perfume
is lethal.
They lost and lost.