Gushing past a rhythm,
Of stealth which seeped,
Thru' the strawberry octave..
Casting away a gaping black,
In the brisk flow of brevity..
Ah, a rusted amaryllis
Petal hidden along pages..
In unkempt frivolity,
Fetching wandering hordes..
Of dog-eared misgivings..
In idyllic clamor..
Gaze...a gaze..
At fluid transparencies..
Over the clinking hazel lull..
Transported..
To the errant tread...
Of conflicting synapse..
In a swirl of affection..
Molded..
With a Quivered glance..
2 comments:
the habits of her mind..can we limit what we notice, highlight what we do see,& provide part of the inferential structure that we reason with ?...relating to the care of souls..true colors..not just hues!...'cause we believe reading is always rewarding...
This post drifted me into an unknown mystical land..I am not sure in what frame of mind you wrote this.. but I will let my perception take charge of unraveling this post...
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