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#authenticlove
Many contrive du-jour fêtes to make love look self-evident; whilst the taken hold hand's, making locution the regular, in letters they trade off into lusting hands. Winsome cut-out caricature cards, sell fresh off the press, whilst lovers meet at bars; to await the next years Valendine. A holiday for only once in a darkly year, as the meanwhile divorce rates spike from cheaters, woman-beaters; Amour's no longer of the creator, but made to be the abzere. Mine jane, please do not fear, I know I mayest not hath much, but a soul and spirit; I connect to thine. None inauthentic word's, or thoughts you'll find; Only what I hath to give thee. The indigenous necklet that grows around this neck, a buttoned up longsleeve, that holds mine back; With a black vest that caresses mine chest- with a smile I hardly show Because of mine soda stained, missing teeth in a mouth where Poetry speaks of pain, yet where Affection is created by mine tongue That creates wonders and Shame. I hath not much material thing's, though material is temporal; not fit for kings and queens. As I hath thou, as thou dost me, I hath not much mine jane; though Thou dost hath the key. The key that open's this beating Heart for thee; wherein mine Love is always seen, in the Specks of thy eyes. The more ourn love grows, it burns As a wildfire, I hear the wedding bell's Require; ourn calling in The distance. ©lonesome poet's poetry ©Brandon nagley ©earl jane sardua nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
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Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 11:47 AM UTC
brandon-nagley
Rhoi fy *** pob fy mod ganddo (Giving myself, all that I hath) welsh tongue
Many contrive du-jour fêtes to make love look self-evident; whilst the taken hold hand's, making locution the regular, in letters they trade off into lusting hands. Winsome cut-out caricature cards, sell fresh off the press, whilst lovers meet at bars; to await the next years Valendine. A holiday for only once in a darkly year, as the meanwhile divorce rates spike from cheaters, woman-beaters; Amour's no longer of the creator, but made to be the abzere. Mine jane, please do not fear, I know I mayest not hath much, but a soul and spirit; I connect to thine. None inauthentic word's, or thoughts you'll find; Only what I hath to give thee. The indigenous necklet that grows around this neck, a buttoned up longsleeve, that holds mine back; With a black vest that caresses mine chest- with a smile I hardly show Because of mine soda stained, missing teeth in a mouth where Poetry speaks of pain, yet where Affection is created by mine tongue That creates wonders and Shame. I hath not much material thing's, though material is temporal; not fit for kings and queens. As I hath thou, as thou dost me, I hath not much mine jane; though Thou dost hath the key. The key that open's this beating Heart for thee; wherein mine Love is always seen, in the Specks of thy eyes. The more ourn love grows, it burns As a wildfire, I hear the wedding bell's Require; ourn calling in The distance. ©lonesome poet's poetry ©Brandon nagley ©earl jane sardua nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
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