WINE AND GATES
Guesses At Loss, A Xum Yelled, Sourly?
habit in tongue, safety
of the risen mine, to climb for a salty excuse
the power of suggestion, in many haves and halting liberty's
the arousal of most's of honor to come, as were enthused
pie and tea, sigh and perhaps...
baring cream and salty pretzels, the lover of a new hap...
sour celery and misused coffee, to quench a laudable thirst...
candy and final leaps of noodles, into the needs of all for a nap...
does a table of finery know how to kiss itself in the pass?
where we are, I don't know, the cold exaction of teeth and the tongue
to find the roof of its dilemma, the hour until we know it has
by the sound of deliberateness, the shame of noting the kind of hero's among
nothing tales and torrid futures, for me
the grossness of insidious miracles and the capability of showing hardship
many names for a shadow in the mouth were, the cult of answering the sound of a key
would you? could us? who'd you? youth's do the lip?
biting my nose for a shame, finally
method in choice for a sanity to approve of a southern lividity
the habit of tongue has become my ear to question theirs, evilly
a candle in my wine, a wandering in my kind, a candor for a weakened civility
relation to insatiate mine, the hall of secrets has become, now
the lankness of chaste in hiss and whispers of variety, sought
and to a welling eye of shares in the prize of duty, how
the pace of kindness and courtesy for us, to know the sound of blessings, not
of the risen mine, to climb for a salty excuse
the power of suggestion, in many haves and halting liberty's
the arousal of most's of honor to come, as were enthused
pie and tea, sigh and perhaps...
baring cream and salty pretzels, the lover of a new hap...
sour celery and misused coffee, to quench a laudable thirst...
candy and final leaps of noodles, into the needs of all for a nap...
does a table of finery know how to kiss itself in the pass?
where we are, I don't know, the cold exaction of teeth and the tongue
to find the roof of its dilemma, the hour until we know it has
by the sound of deliberateness, the shame of noting the kind of hero's among
nothing tales and torrid futures, for me
the grossness of insidious miracles and the capability of showing hardship
many names for a shadow in the mouth were, the cult of answering the sound of a key
would you? could us? who'd you? youth's do the lip?
biting my nose for a shame, finally
method in choice for a sanity to approve of a southern lividity
the habit of tongue has become my ear to question theirs, evilly
a candle in my wine, a wandering in my kind, a candor for a weakened civility
relation to insatiate mine, the hall of secrets has become, now
the lankness of chaste in hiss and whispers of variety, sought
and to a welling eye of shares in the prize of duty, how
the pace of kindness and courtesy for us, to know the sound of blessings, not
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Guesses At Loss, A Xum Yelled, Sourly?
Guesses At Loss, A Xum Yelled, Sourly?
