Amorous one, bedight me in snug linen
Canopy me in thy oriental pinion's;
A ditty for thee, I writeth in this amour
For thou hath let me in, and opened thine door.
Forsooth, we shalt be lover's in cinema Booth's
Letting go of ourn past, cutting ropes, untying the noose;
Thither the jungle's we shalt be missionarie's, exemplary
No thwarting to enter in the tropical orient gate's
Openness cherished, withy exotic plant's to fit ourn date;
Don't be late amare, thou canst put up, or keep down thy hair
For thou shalt blend the forest's, as no makeup for thee is needed.
Thou shalt quench me by thy tan colored painted skin
Betrothing another, fused bodie's together, preparing perfume;
Locked behind ourn own wall, leaving the world in back room
Other's think we're dead, because ourn spirit's from tombs, alive.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry/
あある じぇえん
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
Amorous one, bedight me in snug linen
Canopy me in thy oriental pinion's;
A ditty for thee, I writeth in this amour
For thou hath let me in, and opened thine door.
Forsooth, we shalt be lover's in cinema Booth's
Letting go of ourn past, cutting ropes, untying the noose;
Thither the jungle's we shalt be missionarie's, exemplary
No thwarting to enter in the tropical orient gate's
Openness cherished, withy exotic plant's to fit ourn date;
Don't be late amare, thou canst put up, or keep down thy hair
For thou shalt blend the forest's, as no makeup for thee is needed.
Thou shalt quench me by thy tan colored painted skin
Betrothing another, fused bodie's together, preparing perfume;
Locked behind ourn own wall, leaving the world in back room
Other's think we're dead, because ourn spirit's from tombs, alive.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry/
あある じぇえん
