[untitled]

Illusory

In the foreframe
Bending forth came
In these core flames
Poor thing
More endorphins
For the sore pains
Orphan be lame
Toward change

*

Her Majesty
I set a tea time nigh of happening
Glad to see these fragile curtsies
Mean something
Other than "Don't mind me."
-a superficial laugh or two and back into the shadows I knew-
'dBe glad to see these tactile courtesies
Yield something
Other than the warmth they bring

His travesty
She let a three-times-high-on-maddening
Have his peace, ears rattle, turned cheek
She's something
Other than "Won't find me."
-a stupid sense of aptitude and lost into the memories that grew-
'dBe had to see our every euphony
Shield something
Other than the love they bring

***

Drink of your chalice do I, swept in by the harried gale to this parlor. From a bustling street of pockets jammed with anxious hands, passing manned salvation trains and kicked over donation cans. Part of the pavement debris, in the leaves. 'Tis an empty room of wooden floor and there is no life to see, only imagined walls and emotive happenings. Two seats take our new seeds and who first sees through the fake other? Or let it be and take other?

Choked on your chalice did I, kept hinting at the fairy tales in this parkour. Met a rustling leaf in the thicket stems where satyrs prance, as if all the bells it clanged were long outweighed by patience stance. One with the waves it seems, until they leave