He hurls his fouling tongue down the gutters.
What good is finding virtue in another human, no matter who may be the other?
You’ll permeate my imagined sickness, corrected to the bone, for sums do find the day upon thee encrypting the abode.

He is just angered,
overwrought to call
Yet you’ll see nature in their candids, bones and all?

I won't love you with pleads,
Yearned your two cents in thought no more,
Still I seek that finding of you ‘neath one’s breath
Bones and all

The work isn't literary upon revelation of skins and fleshes,
Chequered play mapped out by suffixes of duresses.
Yet I wait
I wander,
Mind beck and call
I wait furthermore
Bones and all.

This situation impending, discretion by nature.
Yet, with lips to your head in darkness, our metaphysical evades any erasure.
Silhouette a projection,
Our hands ne’er not held
Collapse darkened fall
Rest upon my warmed blood,
Bones and all.