Avidly, yours?
Snow and treacle, in a legends lore?
Kisses and flowers from early tours
Of virtue we welcome in, a little more

A little more than else, the foot of here
And say the ordeal which I describe
Is a lovers time, if not frankness of fear
When a passion has run so fast, to see the days horizon

Sour old forms, of distance and proof
Of an age old drama, we relent into and fix
Just to look for a younger price, to the salt so aloof
Sudden instinct, to tell you a tale about what nix

Thrown the care, the stir of vague happenstance
Will a shrewder couth, or order to heath
Begin with your word, your kiss, in the bough's of hindrance
I spy you, with liberty in a ruses circle, with anxiety to preach

Simplicity's ask, seemly and the pace of champion's
Whetted with peace's aroma, an appetite to silence a charm
Of a carnal wish to find its sleeve, a hair and a lamp...
In the night, when sour is a reaching flame, so just in its warmth