the legions of your
laughter march
across the bread of dawn
eated of eyes the
savory crumbs
ofthy disheveled breaths
trampling of thous sinuous
colours broaching clasp of
sudden cannons of silence booming
the fair article of your poppies
( bashful flocks of cords
.... sifting mercury of doves feathers
exploding against the dark
i bastioned in thy infinite
plait, onyx detonating softly of
thy pale scalp
glory my excellent lavender
no sweeter scent
has sweated in the air as thou's ephemeral
dainty river cleaving the clean night
in exact twain of pallor
wet seconds blushing on the purple cheeks of nocturne
she is a fair lady
but homely against thy
visage.
.
. O night