BurgundyA Poem by DaltonPrecedents of 'Impetum'.
Here we're laying in lethargy,
thus the lovely bind. These limbs wrap up like baskets: our pathos intertwined. My hands grasp just for thy: with only our riot in mind. These gray walls pacify; we see in a burgundy blind. Lo, each time I appraise you, therein anew floor I find: iris' housing green and brown appearing both wild and kind. Here we soak in such feeling, which blurs the line of time. Our salts are ever congealing; we're washed up in a brine. Let us but cure our raw afflictions: a gentle stream over two rocks. Let us be spiced in our convictions; render unsavory doubts, lost. It's that beckoning gasp the tranquility of our sighs; love: delicate petals to clasp- the violent thorns of rise. We hold this threat of wonder now: wrapped in a ribbon of rites. Unraveling this bouquet, somehow, leads only to stale sights. Lest we are baffled by a novelty of this kind; a flower blooms nigh two pollen filled minds. 24/09/2014 © 2016 DaltonFeatured Review
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