Twizzy

The rose blossoms, led by its Disposition of Budding. I gaze with eyes of admiration unto The Beholder. Her glory distilled, and her essence transcending. Inhale fumes of intoxication, exhale sighs of fervour. The countenance of Grace bequeaths stagnation. Dissolution of aimless flower picking. Rather, I tend to Rose with eyes of dilation. Each caress equivalent to licking. No longer identifying dew from perspiration. Plucked from the ground, now lies a beauty so raw. Synchronizie motion of growth til my lasting palpitation. Plucked from my own, standing stagnant in awe.