Island vacation relaxing and calm
Her fluid nature cannot be ignored
Drawn to her heat with the promise of more
There go the lazy days spent 'neath the palm
Enchanted Princess in an island tale
A bronzen mermaid in the deep blue sea
One look, you'll be who she wants you to be
And revel with new found freedom in sail
The water sparkles in the setting sun
Splashes like fireworks welcome the night
Outlines of flesh reflected in moonlight
In the shadows of waves two become one
Reckless abandon, a perfect escape
In her arms he found that dreams could take shape

Oh pasta wig!
My angel hair pasta hair blows in the wig.
Olay.


Sorbet.
Touch the slop.
With a drop.
Don't stop.
Clip clop.
Pitter patter tip top.
Goes the batter of all matter.

Toe mater
Cars 2, see it in theatres.
I have bronzen blazen brazen.
All amazen.
In the amazon.
White Lightning.

Cage of chambers:
Lark of sparks.
Morning bears
Shore that layered.

Eat up the whole plate,
Kick back the bored chair.
Sick is the core layer.

Crack, crack - it is inside you.
"Man is noise" - clickclacks the mechanism
That is beyond the wall and eats it's wheels.
Stap back, not through the door.
Open the window, crawl to the floor,
Sneak into a crate.

Eat at the skin slate.
Kick in the core layer.
Dive in the bored chair.

Abrupt angels
Drowning in black bacon,
Tattered crucifix
In a sea of marmalade.

Ricochet sounds the ricochet
Of flying lead
And it's echo
From bronzen metal
Plate
Of my clean skate.

The starlessness of night
Is born within a brooding mother.
And grieving is the father
For himself. As that is not
The sun he want-
ed.
Fed.

Bitten is the core layer.
Bitter is the mouth's tedder.
I am amused by the bored chair.

Low down in the dirt and silt,
Buried hatchet, blade and hilt,
Armor without sparkling gold,
Body taken o'er by mold.

'Tis the flesh and blood of him,
Ignatius, whose body dim.
But mind so sharp it cut through tin,
Forgotten now by all his kin.

Forgotten by himself, as well,
All't remains; the bronzen bell.
That rang when beastly men he fell
And sent nations to fiery hell:

He died not as he lived before,
Not on the fields of battle evermore;
Killed, he was, by a simple thing:
A mind destroyed by a ceaseless ring.

And thus, all that remains are the corpses,
The blood and gore, the slain forces.
And a man who could not be destroyed,
Lest it be by his own body.

But we shant forget the legacy
We shall compose a threnody
For to forget is but heresy
Remember our simple knight.

In some lost, moss covered grove, lifeless, she layed…
Then Green Venus tipped her basin, showering
streams of endless water thrashing and splashing
atop her ***** then rushing down her bronzen brae.
Flushed in feminine essence, she opened
her great shell to fill with sumptuous water
‘till it spilled and gushed the ribbed edges over
and onto the soil did Spring’s milk descend.
Drenched and dripping she bursts from dormancy
to embrace her first morning of animation
through misty flurries and fluid gyration
leaving slushy trails of puddles and pollen
and, through dew soaked skies, dawn’s first amber light
Illuminates Spring, fully wakened and alive.