Does the sender dance to the tune of the rights
Does the messenger believe in love and call it food
Love letters washed in limbo, I've stopped
Sands and jaded solace of Soho and the midnight lurks hanging like gallows stark in starlight just like we hugged
The arms of the machinist broken by the assuaged quirks


We won, and this integrity of the jejune kind
A lively berry in the possibilities and
Probabilities of time, flickering crystalline face like the mirror across your sea
Ripe and the average
                                                                             Brit ****** mystery


doesn't excite your insightful side
Here something for you, to remember, I have
drawn the lines to tell
                                                me where does it draw to my incubation
Something that makes this broken poetry

Sounds complete when                    you are reading enough from me
Trending poem, titled indelible plenary
How is it really?