Too dull to resolve your damning device
reluctant, the compass of one's measly being,
favonian thoughts turn the rotting tides
tho orient-ward, the faithful rod is kneeling
Subliming mirage of her softest touch,
sweeps the sinner from his rack of lies
the past playing like a melancholic montage
with dolor, he rests inside her naked thought
No comments:
Post a Comment