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david-hilburnPoems
How is yet, our soul purpose? Aged reciprocation, a queue of wrath Since apt, is a war with no host... Places of passion, set to a music to never add Odd, the taste Of vehemence's flower Set to sweeter haste Implied ordeals have a certain power... Mercy, no more... A mirror of lewd fantasy Seeing me step forward Has harbored, my indignity... Salt, I know you Quiet, when fingers of the sun Arrange the day, for a wind to blow An image saving not, from a seldom, so cunning... Professed voices With a moment, to look and see... A curse so sweet, presence of a choice That has a hand, for each blindness we be...
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Jun 7, 2024
Jun 7, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
The Proper Hour, Of A World's Sneeze
How is yet, our soul purpose? Aged reciprocation, a queue of wrath Since apt, is a war with no host... Places of passion, set to a music to never add Odd, the taste Of vehemence's flower Set to sweeter haste Implied ordeals have a certain power... Mercy, no more... A mirror of lewd fantasy Seeing me step forward Has harbored, my indignity... Salt, I know you Quiet, when fingers of the sun Arrange the day, for a wind to blow An image saving not, from a seldom, so cunning... Professed voices With a moment, to look and see... A curse so sweet, presence of a choice That has a hand, for each blindness we be...
Can't promiscuity actually get you laid?
#tradition#perception#sneezes#sophistication
Written by
david-hilburn
56/M/Soldotna, Alaska
Jun 7, 2024
Jun 7, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
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