Too  less
    in  everything
in  very  good
to  have  good   taste
and  result.


It  is  better
  and  preferable  also
rather  than   have    a
big   flower    but
to have    a  well-sented
  flower.


Too  much

in  each  topic
seem  harmful
for  survive.
Too   much  of
anything
is    bad.

In sync
Syncing in the feather in the ink deep,
Deeply, let the ink drip in sync,
Please
Let it swerve the flavor of love in black ink,
Heavenly, it's sented
While others would call it meek
Musty,
No not deep
Moving on, watch the paper crease
Watch it bleed a different calligraphy
Love is not written in black
Hate is more precise, accurate
discrete

The sand beneath my feet
That wormed itself
Then burried under my chest
Where my heart decided the days fate
Was always just full of the food caught between the Devil's teeth
And the space God reserved for those with a passion of falling.

His lengthy and greesy hand prints
Invaded my retinas
And I'd be left silently weeping
Praying
That he does no more harm

If he'd demolished marshmallows
Like a child
The feeling would be soft
Fillowy clouds under foot
Your mother's swimming costume
The first feathers of a new born owl

But he'd gnawed at the bones of an animal deserving better
And I'd feel the sharp glass filled with despair
Ripping my stomach and the spaces
between my ribs like drops of acid
The edges sharp
The middles angry

And as time went by
And the shadow of him followed me
From Hill to Hill
Mountain to Mountain
River through to the Oceans
I realised
I knew beyond the bees sting
And the bite of the apple
That I was an unwilling desciple ....

How the night would steel my throat
And bargain with the moon to leave my voice behind,
as tiny as the pebbles that the sea spat out with embarrassment

And I would just give in
Worn and torn
Exhausted from my fingertips,
screaming
And holding up my hands
To any higher power
To please take me away
Even if for a moons changing
To the summers light

Powerless to breathe
And the grains of sand
Laughing at our stupidity
Will bury themselves until the next self sented beings
That will carry our shame
To their finger tips
And melt like the devil
Who came to dinner
And ate those that deserved better.

An Edwardian lady ,
with a letter to write ,
she clings to it dearly .
For with fine perfume. to write for , it is sented with a kiss from above ,
and smudged in lipstick and all of her love .

For This secret she holds unto her chest to her is divine ,
for it passes through the ages of time .
All wrapped up in string ,
and richest perfume ,
as she walks down the street with her head in the air ,
With whispers of love to guide her there .
To plump and powder and preserve her pout ,
the freshening air on her face ,
makes her the envy of every gentleman’s glancing embrace .

For she cannot wait to post her letter ,
for tomorrow it will be too late ,
the sooner the better ,

Just in time before she is wed ,
to land on the mat of his Park Lane address ,
for that letter to arrive in the letter box
of her love ,
Scented by the richest perfume .
One last chance before the day to say ,
how much I am looking forward to giving a barrog to my love .

🌹
An Edwardian gent sits down to write ,
for it is his last  chance to do what is right .
To send a final letter before the mail man leaves ,
to his beloved .
He tells of how his heart starts to bleed ,
as the quill of his pen moves to every beat of his heart ,
a thud thud thud as his thoughts run away ,
to tomorrow when he will kiss his bride and say ,
“ Now I have given my heart away ,
I wait for the day I can give a cwtch  ( Kutch ) to my wife ,
for .
“ Our silky cocoon has opened to colours so bright ,
Oranges and blues dazzled by the suns beaming light ,
adorned forever ,
In sweet twilight.
Dwi  Wedi  cwympo. ,
for I have fallen head over heels in love with you .