Tonight
Thread and threshold will aspire
Looking this way, for nothing
More than a callous are, we save you from denial

Tonight, is my home...?
Let with risk's music
The tone and purchase of those
Is a lover ever more than a toy, to intrude?

Longer looks, at the hap we adjust to never's light
Supposed charisma, in the been, solace
Though the anecdote, we memorized for a right
Risen to almost, and a heavenly power to face...

Dancing shadows
There in the season of silence's saint?
Joining the how, ever in the lime and promises, the low
In a can of stigmata, isn't a whole face, our only point?

To dance in the all...?
And may a serious kindness, keep a better reign
Interim's rage and vice, have only babies, so little...
When poise is to be, the couth in a glance at even, if instinct so vain...

Poor reaction:
Stipulated by thumbs and notions to excel
Steadied eyes, that keep aims harboring sense?
Of quiet, that looked hard for us, to wish in hell...

Left, do we remember a tears cause?
With the language of frozen thoughts?
Many and metered loyalty's, laws?
That took the obvious to oblivion, for what mocks?

Pyres or piety
The tale I tell, is for the coming and the done
****** to rights, the toil we adjust, we show anxiety...
Is a legend in its own right, risen from the curse, we own

Liberty, is an expensive friend, come to tell us a fortune
Of dignity and callous vice, to share a kept dream of avarice's fit
And final lip of sincerity, that knows where you have been
Acted upon like a thief in the sight, of another, and in whit:

We are that we are...
The poise of destiny to a frightful mind, that keeps charisma
Like a treasure of deliberate calm, when we know passion afar
And ready to strike, nothing but a conversation that is a proven same, somehow sad...

But hating the very roots of opinion, for an art?
Of redoubt in the temptation of cope, to witness a shyness
Forth a remaining tooth of drama and lowly starts
Of nothing at all, but the richness of causes, we have seen come to bless...

Needless, pose a question:
Miracles save themselves...
Long in the tooth, looking for a blessing
Worlds to weigh, with the voice of what delves?

Minus the stone
The rue of visits and cares...
To awaken in the arms of harmony
History to a dare, to lend the kindness of what fares?

Special...
And doted upon, like a dream can feed...?
The spareness of speed in the eye, of what will
To sakes aled, and meant, to be the end of all in heed...

The pout of summation, to which we will know intimation?
Praises be, cares see, the coming order to a least...
At worthy faces, in a common hope, to live the life of sin?
Like a weary lover was, the only force of decency to cease...

Of a silent offer, of season and risk...
To these calls of opportunity, the mated chance
Of cause curious, and questioning the weight of a reason's wish
Paced with the passion of deliberateness, is a wish a saving, romance?

Finish my pout:
Still in silver service, silence for stone
Speed of specialness, I implore to route
A friends smile, to a season of its loan...

Brazen, the tooth of intimacy
Even to the point, of reticent doubt
We are the sigh, of a debacle, ready for instancy
That has come and gone with needs, the many is now...

Courage
And the taint of a maligning lip
So sovereign, for a river of couth's, wage
*** and deliberation's share, in the stoic misery we whit:

Is a taste in wishes with none's voice, for more?
Set in mutual distrust, the music of completion...
Is a hardened drive for poised meager and tumultuous, war?
Of sincerity to fathom the just, the tow of comprehension with sin?

I hate, therefore I dream in colors...
Of heaven with a remembered plea:
Sated with your soul, and the intricacy of what honor; force
I have given not, the heed of history, in the voice of youth to be free...?

Taint, a tender trap?
Blue of the sky, remembered by a cloud:
Faintly, the poetry of life, and its hap
Has the voice to step forward, and remind the season of the proud:

A hatful of poor decision's, has its merit...
But the cool eye of embarrassment
Has come and gone, with meet to understand, limited...
To ours, the count of couth, is one more irony's lament?

Hate me when you see the dragon...
Ought fix and fit enough futures
The life of a needier first, is always a sorrow last, a harrowed tongue?
Has said the obvious, a role in the heinous is a fools curiosity...

Throwing tenderness at you, like one of thumbs even is...
Reasons may give you onus, a variety to concede a gift
Coming for beauty, and its rosy inclination, a truer wisdom
That has survived the heed, the beating wings of condition to lift:

Hate me one more time, a reality of pain has become a champion:
To the fate, the hardened courage of youth, with a challenged whisper?
May a knowing hurt, be the fascinated letter of providence
Seeing the obvious, a bird of purer colors, will finish the kiss?

Guns with an imagination...?
Salt in a brutish court, of angers more, to swear in romantic language
Still the burden of squalor, with a slighter lip of intimation?
Your fruit is sweeter by the secrecy, as if, a cold shoulder ever is a place for rage...

Oily flowers
Slap faces like an angel
Simply twain, simpler powers
Sit in the sun, like a smile for the devil

Agony, of an oily smile
Sit to once, upon nothing more...
Hap and adage, require you, of a while
Meaning no-where's step, for a curious war...

Anything, everywhere at once...
A promise to shed, a tear
Through and through, before life begun
The love and misery, is a magic, to fear?

Sated...?
And shown to chew the thought
Is a mystery, of reality, so fated?
When poor is such, aren't we a death sought?

Oily more...
We said the cope, of another world
Suggesting only, the question's we were
Given pride's notion, specialness's devotion; is a fears lover, ever early?

Places to defer:
To a salty justice
Soap and a question worth
Please be my ought, a common request with a shrill vice?

Salt seems to be my only hope...
Stoic rewards and harrowing few's, of callousness
Aside, I see the providence of stillness, take root
With a smile and a sharing behalf, I wonder if I bless...?

Stong winds may disapprove...
Long looks at no-where's imagination...
Standing well in front, savagery in back with no love...
And the anarchy of that smile, anxious and doting on silent...

Nightmares, with a reaching lead of simplicity
A lip of service and dissuasion, set too high
For a requited moment, to tell the wishes we imply, inherently
Have the yearning before a seldom seen, angel understands cry...

Given the time, given the lucid rhyme
Of patience and its virtue, your remembering
Of a long sated and twisted form to compare, the youth of time?
Has a voice struck with means, meager enough to swear we...

Shoulder
A rising fortune of senses alive, set to aches and plains
Of worlds redeemed, by a wish we made, with a meant nerve
Will you marry me, is even a voice to martyr beyond the call of the rains...?