Pretty Flowers… Prettier Hands… Damn!

And: Objections lens, itself towards thee, to wit between, your view and which witch being meant; then instant caustic, bee an irritant, belay beneathe ones behooved breasts, so suckling sweet. Instant lei, be tossed aside, each thoughts soul waned; a lass or low behold, as star to Isis’ suade, centered such, two wills agonst each sole’s tree knells; glanced therein twined flames, compassionate sweets kissed. Upon… that time, when all one’s dreams held such mean, perception’s stout myth, a mystery, without mind’s ends; that battle, an epic fought, of words gentile friends, becomes an adversaries clash of stinging bold works. Serpent’s touch, toothed and hooves, these daze dawns, obsolescence twined there, retiring a black queens pawn; tongue remiss, salute’ pissed, reap that soul’s reward, begins thereunto compassion’s truth: lets life rend. And: these serpent’s instants, glanced upon by them, to believe one’s chance, perusal’s truth’s circumstance; calms ablution’s thus, begins a Proust’s objection, dissing’s hist, the shite hawks bled, one thousand hands spun. Untoward comes the newest dawn, lines cleaned crowed, dressage requites, the truth’s word wright, this Lord’s honed sward; hissing’s bless, an annuls bliss, twice rings interred, choirs sing out; that heeled tapping lads reincarnated! Michael Darrell Walker