Beneath one constellation of marvels,
Basking in the glory of austerity-
Tender ardor of sweet sonority,
Strolling in a field strewn with long oblongs.
Tiny grass-lets, crafted with purple circles,
Beset with one cold azure royalty-
Espousing queer air of fake loyalty-
Eluding thoughts caught in insane rambles.
One thick miasma, off one lone passion,-
Embracing senses sizzling and seething.
Beneath the ripples of rebellion,-
Ricochets off a sublime thought fuming.
While instincts shed stale tears of affection,
Astute conscience leaves me, grinning.