calls me ahead and not, could suffice if were not my trimings to dream of other things. for i like to dream
at times its undecided, but i shall mush on i think. kir and froth yulisious in its vestitude. yearnings for yellow ribbons cued and boiled by soft red wines and earthy tapestries. they cling to my arms, twisting and curlying, light soft. utilitarian at moments.
greener tides of soft pale jades could fight me on the goldness of skinless fortitudes, then something else may have occurred here. spearmint petals speak at night upon an air of blue humidity, crisp coldness, refridged frigid seasonings. killed in and out of harpsichord trimmings and fraudulious expectations.
I think of you often enough, quite the irratation of diadem complexies which hand me moments to change you and myself for better circumstances. at least thats what i suspect. in time i should come to believe that you are thinking of me as well. i hope its within a finer light than those days we knew on purple shores beforehand. do let me wander.
red cards are folded in glistening patterns of victorian flower arrangements, they dance across the window frames of my eyes and yours. in spinning dark leaves in robust fashions towards rubilith and ashen browns, gold tapestries, silk fineries. it runs past me, lies besdies me, whispers secrets we mentioned in earlier moments- i run my fingertips across the aubergine velvet, its smooth and sparkling with emerald precision. this evening it will glow by the fire, and i will smile.